


Hiding in Plain Sight

by RinAsami



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Bratva, Explicit Language, Love/Hate, M/M, Russian Mafia, Sex, Yakuza, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-09-27 20:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10047194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RinAsami/pseuds/RinAsami
Summary: How well can you really know someone? The person you’ve spent weeks or months with, could they really be nothing as they appear? Can two world-known figure skaters be, not just superior athletes, but also superior killers for their respective mafia syndicates? Victor and Yuri are about to find out if the other is really who they appear to be or if they’ve been hiding in plain sight the entire time.When the Russian Bratva and Japanese Yakuza collide, how can it not end up in a bloodbath?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note before reading, there will be some slurs in this fiction that are politically incorrect and can come off as offensive. Any slurs or views in this work do not reflect my own views; I just thought they fit in with the story.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

 

[Hiding in Plain Sight Story Cover](https://tinyurl.com/ydcpw4ja)  
  
(Titled under my author name) 

 

* * *

'After the Grand Prix Final, let's end this,' were the words that kept going through Victor Nikiforov’s head again and again. He couldn’t believe Yuri would be so selfish as to end their partnership when things were just getting good. The coach couldn’t stop pacing after Yuri left their hotel room a half hour earlier mumbling about needing some air. A barrage of thoughts swam through the Russian skater’s head.

_Was Yuri getting nervous at their closeness?_

_Did he do something to push Yuri away?_

_Was his aloofness getting annoying?_

_Did Yuri want another coach?_

_Did Yuri sense something was off?_

_Worse yet, did Yuri know something he shouldn’t?_

Victor was starting to get a headache behind his eyes just thinking of it all. Tired of the obsessive thoughts, he grabbed his cell phone to see when Yuri would be back so they could talk. As soon as he picked up the phone, it started ringing. “Perfect timing,” Victor thought as he glanced at the screen.

“Oh, it’s just Yakov.” The man sounded thoroughly disappointed.

Victor unlocked the phone and put it to his ear. “здравствуйте, Yakov.”

“Vitya, meet me down in the alley behind the hotel. I need to talk to you, now.” Yakov sounded irritated. It was evident that the gold medalist was being given an order and not a request. His former coach didn’t wait for a response and hung up immediately after speaking.

Victor yawned and put his clothes back on, faster than normal since he didn’t feel like getting bitched at by a sour Yakov. It didn’t take long for him to get to the alleyway since he was on ground floor level. The sleepy man looked to the left and right, finally spotting the older man leaning against the far corner of the building in the shadows.

Vitya walked over to the man, preparing himself to get yelled at for something.

“Yakov, what is so important that I needed to come out here? It’s freezing!” Victor said with a slight frown.

“Vitya, I’m calling it off. The kid knows something is up. My sources say he’s been acting oddly, never wanting you to take your eyes off him, and wanting to get closer to you. It’s dangerous for you, for all of us. So, I’m stopping the operation.

The five-time gold medalist was shocked at the sudden halt of the mission. “So, you want me just to walk away? You want me just to disappear like we never met?” The man’s voice cracked a little more than he wanted.

Yakov moved closer to his ex-pupil and put his hand on the other’s shoulder. “Vitya, it’s over. You know what you have to do. If he knows who you are, then there is no use to continue.”

Victor was silent and staring down at his feet.

“Here,” Yakov held out his hand with a large black object in it. “Take it.”

The tall coach looked weary as he stared at the black 9mm pistol in the other’s hand. With slight hesitation, he took it and put it in his back waistband.

“We got that little Yakuza prick tied up in a warehouse outside of town. Nabbed him while he was jogging just a bit ago.“ Yakov laughed a gruff laugh.

Victor just stood there in silence. Yakov was already irritated, so he gave his prior student instructions that he’d never forget.

“Since you did all the recon work on this one, I’m letting you take the shot. I want that bastard Yuri Katsuki dead by tomorrow night. I don’t care how you do it. Torture the Yakuza for all I care. Just make sure he’s dead. Don’t worry about the body; we’ll take care of it.”

“Yes—yes, sir,” Victor stammered.

Yakov pulled out an envelope with large bills sticking out of the top. “Take this; it is more than what you were originally told for this assignment since you had to do more _delicate_ work this time.” The older man wrinkled his nose as his suggestion. The thought of his brother in arms having to possibly bed another man for intel honestly made him sick to his stomach.

“But, we don’t even know for sure he’s a Yakuza plant,” Victor questioned.

“Doesn’t matter. We can’t take the chance. He dies tomorrow. You’ve done half your job, now get the hell out of here and do the other half.”

"Yakov, aren't you overreacting? If Katsuki were a mafia sleeper like me, he would have killed me one of the times we shared a hotel room!" Victor pleaded.

"Vitya, if that were true and he was just like you, then, of course, he wouldn't have killed you— because you haven’t had the balls to kill him yet either!”

A sigh escaped the younger man’s lips as he rubbed his temples harshly.

"Don't sigh at me dammit. Do your job and take out that Jap! You've been under cover for way too long, freaking enjoying yourself and become a star..."

"I understand, but what if you’re wrong? Yuri hasn't let anything slip if he's a sleeper. He seems so innocent and sweet. All he wants to do is win and make me proud!"

Yakov pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head like he was listening to a complete moron. "You are just as air-headed as you make yourself out to be! He seems innocent!? Look at yourself! Everyone thinks you are just a charming gold-winning figure skater, but I know what you really are— you are an undercover killer for the Bratva. And a very skilled one at that, or at least you used to be."

Victor paced up and down the ally with Yakov staring daggers at him. The man knew what he had to do, disobeying was not an option—you don’t turn your back on an order given from a higher ranking brother, period. After what seemed like hours, yet was only minutes, the world champion acquiesced and agreed to drive out to the meeting spot to put an end to the coaching/student charade that had lasted over eight months.

Upon arriving at the location, the skater just sat in the car and stared at the dilapidated industrial structure in front of him. It was a vacant business park on the outskirts of Moscow, Russia. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, the coach stalled for time. He quietly talked to himself as the drumming became more erratic.

“Yuri should never have come to Russia with me alone. God, he’s too trusting! Honestly, I’m terrified I’m about to make a mistake and murder a complete innocent. Killing innocents is not what I signed up for.” A shaky hand combed through his gorgeous silky locks, only pushing them out of his face for a moment before falling back down. “If they’re wrong, Yuri I am so sorry—I don’t deserve your forgiveness and will regret your death as long as I live. But if they are right—well, I guess I'll thoroughly enjoy your blood on my hands as I smile down upon your dying form. At least, that is what I will tell myself until I believe it.”

Shaking hands took the pistol that was laying on the passenger seat, and with one last look at himself in the reflection of the window, he stepped out of the car. Tucking the gun in his back again, the man marched directly toward the two men guarding the warehouse with a pained but determined expression. The expression was hardened and devoid of the once gentleness that graced his face almost every day since he’d been with Yuri Katsuki, the same Katsuki that his brothers swore was the enemy.

Victor steeled himself as he grew closer to the guarded door. This was it; he was going to end the life of the man he’d come to know and like. There was no turning back now.


	2. Chapter 2

 

* * *

 

"What's up Vitya?" one of the guards said before gesturing backward with his thumb toward the door behind. "The enemy is tied up inside-- little bitch is crying for his mother!" The pair laughed heartily. "Can you believe that!? A Yakuza crying and begging to be let go-- he's really trying to keep the 'I'm just a figure skater.' thing going." Both men laughed again at the Japanese boy’s plight.

Victor's face turned sour, and a disgusted grimace graced his beautiful face. "You fuckers get out of here. I can't stand the sight of you right now."

One of the men spoke up. "Easy now...we didn't touch him. He's all yours, bosses orders. I wanted to cut his tongue out, but apparently, only you are allowed to defile him. What bullshit, you get all the fun all because you had to fuck the kid or something."

The coach's fist flew out much too fast for the other man to defend. A sickening crack echoed, carried by the howling winds. The underling held his gushing nose and screamed. "What the fuck man! I was just messing with you!"

"I never touched that kid. You got that. Now get the hell out of here, both of you, before I put a bullet in your worthless skulls."

The two thugs looked at each other and quickly scrambled away from the towering man before he inflicted more damage.

Victor turned his head toward the escaping pair and gave them another warning. “On more thing. If I see you two fucks again, you had better address me properly. How dare you refer to me so casually!” The guards yelled out in unison, “Yes sir! We apologize, Mr. Nikiforov!” before disappearing out of sight.

The coach cursed under his breath as he wiped his bloodied fist on his pants. At least they were his red training pants, he thought.

The door creaked as Victor entered the darkened warehouse. He immediately saw Yuri tied to a pillar with his hands behind his back. The young man's head jerked up as soon as he heard the noise.

"Please, whoever you are, help me! I've been kidnapped! I'm not who they think I am, I swear!" Tears were dripping from beneath the dirty cloth that was covering Yuri's eyes. The boy was obviously distressed and seemingly terrified. All this just pissed Victor off more than he already was.

The Russian walked until he was directly in front of the slumped prisoner and pulled the gun out of the waistband.

"Shut it you fucking Japanese Yakuza piece of shit!" Victor screamed at the other's covered face, gripping the pistol tightly.

Katsuki's head started shaking. "What? Vic-- Victor!? What are you doing here? Yakuza...what?" Incoherent sobs and mumbling followed until he was able to collect his thoughts again. "Did they nab you too? Are they making you say this? Talk to me, Victor!"

Silence.

"Victor? Are you still there? Are you ok? Did they hurt you?" The younger asked desperately.

Yuri squinted when the mask was abruptly ripped from his head with a harsh yank. It seemed to take a moment for his vision to settle on Victor, not four feet from where he was tied.

"Stop your bumbling. Drop the act Katsuki. We got you before you could get me, it's over for you," the coach coldly informed.

"What? What are you..."

"I said stop!" Victor yelled in the other's face as he pointed the barrel of his 9mm in the center of Yuri's forehead and cocked it.

Yuri started heaving, heaving sobs wrecking his body. He was literally shaking in terror.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Victor! Whatever I did, or you think I did, I’m so sorry. Please don’t do this!” Yuri cried. His body trembled so much it looked as if he would topple over any second. The younger skater attempted to bow his head as low as possible in submission. He knew his coach cared for him and thought that Victor would not be able to go through with it if he assumed an utter docile state.

The gesture didn’t work on the agitated Russian.

“Put your head up dammit! What about your Japanese honor, hmm? Take it like a man.” Victor pushed the barrel harder into the soft black hair.

When Yuri didn’t move, his coach continued and demanded the other’s cooperation. “Look up, now! You will stare me in the face as I end your life. I am your coach after all, do you dare disobey me?”

The student still didn’t move and kept sobbing. There was one last thing he could try, but if it failed, he would surely die.

The anger Victor had at the guards, at Yakov, at Yuri, at the whole situation came to a head. The man wanted to take it out on someone and that someone was going to be Yuri Katsuki.

The pressure of the gun left the skater’s head and gave the boy a slim silver of hope. Hope that did not last as the other yanked his chin up so hard that the back of his head slammed into the pole he was tied around. The impact reverberated through his skull, causing the pain to thump in waves. The shock of it made his eyes even a little fuzzy, so he shut them tightly. Unsurprisingly, more tears managed to escape the tightly closed lids. He didn’t know what was worse, the pain in his head or his heart.

Squinting his eyes open, Yuri found Victor to be inches from his face. The usually calm blue eyes that held so much happiness and light were now seemingly dim and full of murderous hatred. It was a bold move on Yuri’s part, but the only thing he could think of to ease the tension in those eyes was to extend his own face just a little further, connecting their lips.

Victor’s eyes grew wide as the other’s lips touched his own. It was not what he was expecting, and he was affixed to that very spot as his so-called enemy’s lips gently caressed his mouth. Yuri was so eager to snap the Russian out of his hate-filled trance that he slipped a shy tongue inside the warm cavern.

As the inexperienced tongue darted around in his mouth, the coach seemed lost in emotion. In the back of his mind, he knew it was not how someone in his position should be acting, but he couldn’t help how the other’s tongue felt so right inside his mouth. After a few seconds, he gave in, knowing his actions would make it harder to complete his mission. The need for more heat was too intense, Victor moved closer and rubbed his tongue against the invader’s warmth.

The Russian’s guard was lowering as he sunk closer to the other, allowing the hand that was not holding the gun to thread through Yuri’s silky locks. The boy let out a wanton moan as the other’s fingertips massaged the spot where the pole connected with his head.

Moans and hard breathes bounced off the wall as the pair attacked each other’s mouths. The gentleness of Yuri’s kisses made the doubts about the Bratva’s accusations come to the forefront of Victor’s mind.

The thought was a fleeting one as a searing pain ripped through his left shoulder blade. The pain made the man cry out and tear his lips away from the other. Victor fell backward on his ass and instinctively grabbed his shoulder, dropping the gun behind him.

“Ah, God! What!?” The coach screamed as blood gushed out of his slashed shoulder. He looked up to see Yuri starting to stand, blood also running down his right hand.

A frightened pair of blue eyes met a steely set of brown. Slowly an evil grin spread across the younger skater’s face.

“Idiot fucking henchmen shouldn’t leave a pair glasses near the prisoner.” Yuri cursed, throwing a bloodied shard of his glasses’ lens toward Victor.

Victor looked at the shard and then looked at Yuri. “So you were…?”

Yuri started laughing as if the dire situation was the funniest thing in the world. “You stupid ass Russian….should’ve stabbed you in the jugular.”

“Please help me! I didn’t do anything! Oh God!” The skater mocked his previous calls for help in a whiny, high-pitched voice.

“Fucking Bratva bastard. We Yakuza are good actors; you actually started to believe it. Blech, kissing me deeper and shit.” The Yakuza spat on the fallen Russian. “Disgusting. I can’t get the taste of you out of my mouth! Five bottles of Sake probably won’t get the filth out.”

“Yakuza trash!” Victor yelled before feeling around for his dropped gun. Frantic reaching while trying to keep his eyes on the enemy led him to finally find the weapon.

The second the Russian’s fingers flitted over the grip, a sneaker-clad foot bashed the delicate digits into the ground. Victor tried to pull his injured hand away, but the weight of pure muscle wouldn’t budge.

“I don’t think so, Victor Nikiforov.” Yuri wiggled his finger in front of the other’s face and tsked. The gun was quickly grabbed from the ground as soon as Yuri removed his foot. Victor was now the one in the weapon’s sights.

“Do you want me to shoot you in the face or chest?” The Yakuza asked. “Hmm, I don’t know, you do have a kind of attractive face and all…maybe I’ll spare it for your mother’s sake at the funeral.”

Victor just stared at the barrel and then at Yuri. “I won’t beg for my life you dirty Jap.”

The younger mused, “Hmm, maybe I will go for the face then after all?” and looked at the disheveled man on the ground. “It’s funny, you call me dirty, and you were sucking my face like I was the hottest piece of ass you’ve ever seen.”

“Just kill me you little shit and get it over with!” The coach knew he had lost because of his own stupidity. He didn’t want to be shamed any longer.

“Tell you what, Rosuke…since I feel a little sorry for you, I’ll give you another chance at this piece of ass. It wouldn’t be any fun if I just killed you now anyway.”

Yuri tucked the stolen gun in his back. “Come find me Bratva. I’ll show you what a Yakuza is capable of when you don’t have a handicap.”

The Japanese man started to walk away, toward the door and stopped a few paces from his fallen coach.

“This is for you to remember me by until we meet again…” Yuri turned and heaved his right leg up to connect his foot with the side of Victor’s head. Knocking the man out cold with one powerful roundhouse kick to the side of the skull.

The Yakuza walked away calmly with a grin on his face. He couldn’t wait to meet his coach again, now that both identities were out in the open. This was going to be fun; he could finally drop the innocent act and show the other what he was made of.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Rosuke is a Japanese derogatory term for Russian.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter just flew out of me this time and I couldn't wait to share it with you all! I apologize if there are any typos, I ran through it a few times but I may have missed some at this late hour.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

Yakov handed Victor a large bottle of Vodka.

“Drink,” he commanded.

The other didn’t even have to be told twice and gulped down one burning swig. The fire in his throat would distract him from what Yakov was about to do. The older man stood behind him, needle and thread at the ready. Yuri hadn’t inflicted any significant damage to his coach’s shoulder blade, but the cut still needed to be stitched, and hospitals asked too many questions. So, Yakov it was, that, and the best local aesthetic available--old-fashioned Russian vodka.

“Before you pierce me with that thing, you didn’t sit it anywhere did you? This hovel of a motel is probably crawling with deadly bacteria—I don’t want that shit sewn into me,” Victor said in a snappy, wholly unappreciative tone.

Yakov smacked his underling in the back of his head. “Be thankful I came to check on your ass. You were stupid to send those two guards away; what were you thinking!”

“Dammit, they pissed me off! And about those two—I want them punished. I don’t care if they are in good standing or not; they were stupid to let Katsuki be close enough to his glasses on the drive to the warehouse to be able to stash a lens.”

“Fine, fine. Just hold still so I can stitch this up. We stay in this dump until morning, then head into the city.” Yakov’s tone was abrupt and left no room for questioning.

Victor had taken one more swig of alcohol before the other began the tedious job of closing up the gash. It was painful, and it took all the coach’s resolve not to jerk and pull away from the piercing needle. The deep breathing did nothing to ease the pain, but the vodka did take the edge off after a bottle was downed and tossed across the room.

“Done,” the older announced. “Now, go get some rest you drunk shit head. I swear, I should beat you for letting that Japanese get away, you know?”

A few slurred words had echoed off the dirty walls before Yakov heard the soft snoring. The man sighed and hoisted the other up and onto the bed. It couldn’t be helped; Victor would be useless until he slept off the bottle of booze he consumed. He would have to try and get comfortable on the broken down mattress on other bed while his subordinate snored and mumbled in his sleep. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

“Hey, sleeping beauty, get the fuck up,” Yakov smacked Victor on each side of his face a few times to wake him from his stupor. “We’re heading into the city. You can stay in the hotel while I check out some leads about the missing money.”

The coach awoke with a groan, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. “Ugh, I don’t feel that great.”

“No shit; you drank an entire bottle of high proof vodka last night. Just get your ass up and meet me in the car,” Yakov said.

A very hung over Victor stumbled out of the creaky bed and crept to the bathroom to splash water on his face. He didn’t dare drink the brown tinged water that trickled out of the faucet. Getting stabbed and staying in a less than the one-star hotel was enough of an adventure, he didn’t want to risk getting sick from tainted water too. After a few minutes of staring at his face is the broken mirror he heard the horn blare from outside. “Hm, looks like the old man is losing his patience—what a shock.” The honking continued until Victor stumbled out the room door and made it into the black sedan.

“It took you long enough Vitya! It’s an hour until we reach the inner city of Moscow and I have to meet our brothers in two hours!” Yakov yelled at his subordinate, making sure to point a finger in his face when the other finally turned toward him.

The drive into the city was quiet. Victor fell asleep again as he was groggy from the ill effects of mixing painkillers and alcohol.

* * *

The younger man was roused awake by Yakov shaking and snapping of fingers in front of his face. “Hey, we’re here. I’m dropping you off at the hotel. You’re in no condition to join the meeting. I’ll let you know when we decide to move on Katsuki.” When Victor’s eyes closed again, a sharp smack on the cheek woke him up fully. “That shit should be out of your system soon with all the sleeping you’ve been doing. I don’t know why you insisted on taking so much pain meds you pussy.”

“Oh Yakov...I just wanted you to baby me like you used to when I was a kid.” Victor laughed and rolled his eyes.

“Shut it Vitya. Get out of the car and go check in. I’ll be back when we’re done.”

The sway in the others step luckily wasn’t too noticeable. Victor had always been bad with taking hard pain medicine; the stuff always seemed to knock him on his ass longer than normal. As soon as the hotel door was opened, Yakov sped away. The man knew Victor could at least check himself into the hotel, even with his lingering impairment.

* * *

Meanwhile, Yuri Katsuki was having a meeting of his own.

After stabbing Victor and taking his car, he stopped at a nearby gas station to get cleaned up and refuel since it would be a drive to the nearest airstrip. A few phone calls are all it took to get the Yakuza on a private plane back to Japan. Upon arriving, Yuri called a meeting of all the Yakuza in his family; it was time to inform them of what had happened and plan for what was to come.

Yuri was deep in thought, pacing back and forth as his men gathered in the windowless underground hideout and talked amongst themselves. A hand snaked through his slicked back hair and another adjusted his tie and vest. The man looked every bit the part of a Yakuza. He was dressed in a dark gray three-piece Armani suit, complete with leather Gucci footwear and a glittering Rolex. The black and silver pistol flashed in, and out of sight under his suit coat as the pacing became faster. All traces of the fumbling, self-conscious, middle-class young man was gone.

Abruptly the man stopped and faced the crowd. “Hey, everyone, shut up!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. The room immediately went silent; no one dared to utter a peep. When Yuri Katsuki wanted your attention, he got it. All eyes were on the agitated skater.

“As most of you have probably heard, I was taken hostage by those filthy Bratva bastards. I was going to let Nikiforov come to me, but have decided against it; I won’t be a fucking lady in waiting. I’m going after that prick!” Some of the men echoed, ‘Hell yeah!” while others just nodded in agreement.

“Those idiots want a fight; I’ll give ‘em a fight! They wanna blame their missing money on us, fine! They wanna send a killer to watch over me, fine! We are Yakuza, and we will teach them a lesson. We don’t let shit go!” Yuri worked the crowd into a frenzy. The group cheered and applauded their branch leader. The men enthusiastically shared their methods of taking down their boss’s coach, roaring over one another.

A portly member of the group boasted how he was going to make Nikiforov pay dearly for taking their Aniki* and sullying their family’s honor. The man’s voice carried over the rest, reaching their leader’s ears as he spoke.

“That Bratva scum will pay for what he’s done! I’m going to take such pleasure is taking that damn dog of his and gutting the mongrel right in front of him!” The man laughed heartily. “Can you imagine his face when I slit its thro—”

A single shot rang out amongst the chatter.

Members near the boasting man were in shock as they wiped the blood and brain matter from their faces, staring down at their, now deceased, brother. The room went silent. Almost in unison, the men slowly took their gaze from the body on the floor to the direction of the sound.

Yuri Katsuki was still gripping the gun and pointing in the direction of the fallen man. His face was mean and angry but he calmly, almost serenely, holstered his weapon before speaking to the mystified group of people.

“No one will touch the fucking dog. We’re Yakuza, not heartless monsters. Anyone who even touches that dog will get a bullet from me, but not before I castrate them in front of everyone. Got it?” Yuri’s voice was dangerous and unwavering.

The men momentarily hesitated, but bowed to their boss in unison and acquiesced to his demands, yelling, “Yes, sir!” as a collective.

“We don’t kill innocents, especially a fucking poodle!”

Yuri paused in thought for a moment and spoke his next words in a softer tone. “Besides, I like that dog, goddammit.” The comment was more to himself that anything.

Katsuki brushed some fall black strands out of his face and sighed, straightening is posture. “Now, what I was saying…yes—speaking of not letting go—I will find just who leaked information about me to the Bratva. If it was anyone in this room, know, I will find you, and I will execute you. Just as I did to that jackass.” Their boss gestured toward the fallen man. Yuri’s eyes scanned the group of people while each member looked to the man to his left and right, trying to judge if the one next to them was the traitor. The room was even tenser than before as each inside doubted one another.

Yuri cleared his throat to get his men's attention once more. “On to our original problem—the Bratva…does anyone know where Nikiforov and his cohorts are holed up?”

When the group remained silent and shook their heads, "no," Yuri pinched the bridge of his nose and folded his arms across his chest. He was pissed. The man closed his eyes, trying to think of where his coach would have gone. Walking around, he stopped and pressed the back of his head against the wall, banging it slightly. The “ah-ha” moment came when his phone buzzed with a text from someone. “The phone!” he thought.

Yuri fished out his phone from his inner suit pocket. “Everyone, keep quiet. I need to make an urgent call,” he announced. After tapping a few buttons, the man turned to face away from the group. He had to concentrate and couldn’t risk getting distracted or out of character for this conversation. After three rings the line picked up, and Yuri began to speak.

"Hey, Yurio! It's Katsuki." The young Russian apparently wasn’t pleased with the late hour call as grumbling and curses echoed from the phone speaker.

"Yeah, look, I'm sorry it's late." Yuri took a deep breath; his voice started to sound shaky and upset. "Do you know where Victor is staying tonight? We had a fight, and he took off." The Yakuza ran his fingers through his hair nervously. His actions helped him get more into the anxious student role. The smile that crept on the man's face indicated that Yurio did indeed know where Victor was staying and though apparently aggravated, the boy was willing to share the information. "Thank you, Yurio. Really. I think I'm gonna go surprise him and apologize, maybe blood red roses or something." Yuri laughed at what the other said. "No, flowers aren't weird. You just don't know how to apologize. Anyway, don't tell him okay? I know he'll just love this!" Yuri nodded as he listened. "Yeah, well gotta go. Thanks again," he said before ending the call.

Yuri Katsuki turned to his men, a brilliant grin etched on his face. "Ritz-Carlton, right in the middle of Moscow. Dumbass,” he shook his head in mock disapproval. Couldn't have been more apparent.”

The Yakuza pocketed the phone and started barking orders. "Kai, get the car ready," he instructed one of his subordinates. "I'm going alone. It would be awkward having someone with me when I'm delivering a bouquet of flowers to a guest, now wouldn’t it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Aniki is a Yakuza slang term for a superior/boss.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't stop myself; I'm getting really into this story! So, here's another update already!
> 
> Enjoy!!! <3

 

 

* * *

 

On the way to the private airstrip to go to Moscow, the same place he’d just left only two days prior, Yuri remember the text he’d received during the family meeting. After a few flicks on the screen, the phone went flying on the floorboard.

“Fuck!” he grumbled.

Yuri’s driver glanced at him in the mirror. “Sir, is everything alright?”

“No, it’s not! Dammit, I forgot that there was a press junket today. Phichit is texting me asking where I am since it’s starting in an hour.”

“Do you want me to turn around, Aniki?” The driver asked hesitantly, not wanting to insight his boss’s wrath.

“Take me to my apartment. I have my warm-up gear there; I can change out of this suit and get the gel out of my hair…can’t look too nice and kept, can I?” Yuri sneered at this own comment. He hated having to appear average and nervous in front of people.

“Right away, Sir.”

The Yakuza ran into his apartment and quickly showered, changed clothes, and swapped his contacts for glasses. His driver was ready for him with the door open when the man came rushing out, stilling pulling on his jacket.

“Okay, step on it.” Yuri settled himself in the back of the car and removed his glasses. Luckily he kept a spare after his first met such an unfortunate end, partially embedded in Victor Nikiforov’s back.

The man started furiously rubbing his eyes and slapping his face. His driver Kai thought he’d lost it. “Sir, are you…okay?” Turning around to look at his boss at a stop light, he saw a few tears run down the now reddened face.

Yuri started sniffling and then looked up at the concerned man and glared. “I’m fine. Just drive.”

Luckily the light turning green demanded the others attention, preventing him from pestering his boss further. Silence blanketed the ride until the car stopped at the venue.

“Sorry, Kai. It’s just…”

“No, Aniki. You don’t have to apologize to me. I am just your driver; no explanations needed.”

Yuri sighed and rolled his eyes. “It’s just going to be one hell of a press conference. I have to act the part. You’ll see…” The skater got out of the car, putting on a face of smiles, but didn’t try and cover up the red around his eyes and face. He waved to the reporters as they furiously snapped picture after picture.

 

* * *

 

Katsuki was the last skater to be interviewed. The previous skaters that attended all took their turns discussing their plans for the upcoming Grand Prix Final and what they’ve been doing to improve from their last competition.

Yuri got up to the podium, still looking saddened with an obvious insincere smile on his face. He began to speak as the crowd quieted down.

“Thank you, everyone.”

“I was going to come up here today and tell you all how hard I’ve been training and how excited I am to complete in the GPF with all of these brilliant skaters here.” Yuri extended his hand out gesturing to the other men sitting beside the podium, faces creased in concern. “But that will not be the speech I will make today.”

The crowd and other skaters alike starting whispering amongst themselves in hushed voices, all wondering what the skater that worked so hard to get to this point was going to say. They politely quieted down so he could continue.

“As of today, I am dropping out of the running for the Grand Prix Final.”

Gasps echoed throughout the hall. The press and guests faces were agape, not expecting a statement like they’d just hear tumble from the younger skater’s mouth.

Yuri nervously adjusted his glasses and wiped a tear from his eye. The women in the audience apparently felt sorry for the man; some wiped their own tears while others sniffled and awed.

After clearing his throat, he continued while flashes of camera bulbs reflected on his face.

“Unfortunately, my coach, Victor Nikiforov, and I have had a falling out. We have mutually decided to part ways and have severed our working partnership.”

When the skater paused, a member of the press took the opportunity ask a barrage of questions, though the press release was not meant to be a full Q&A.

“Mr. Katsuki, how does Mr. Nikiforov feel about you quitting the competition after all the hard work both of you have done? Will he be doing his own release since he is not here now? What happened that made you end your relationship?”

“Umm…” Yuri combed his fingers through his hair; his hands were visibly shaking. “I apologize for Victor’s absence; we were unable to announce this news together as he is still in Russia. Also, I can’t comment on his personal feelings on the matter. I know that he and I appreciate all the wonderful love and support we’ve gotten from all the fans out there during both of our careers. I thank you for that, and I wish nothing but the best for Victor. I also want to thank everyone for their understanding and privacy during this difficult time. I’m sorry, I can’t elaborate…”

The skater bowed to the audience, stepped off the podium, and exited the hall through the back doors behind the stage. The room was quiet except for the faint undertones of whispers after the Japanese skater left. The press didn’t really know what to think, and neither did the fellow skaters that were whispering to Phichit, asking if he knew what was going on. Phichit could only shrug and shake his head. He had no idea that Yuri and Victor had a falling out or about Yuri’s intention to quit.

The junket ended after a member of the ISU thanked the skaters and audience for their attendance and wished everyone good luck at the upcoming final. Phichit rushed out of the meeting room to find Yuri to get the full story but he was already gone. After calling his friend and receiving no answer, the Thai skater called Yuri Plisetsky, the young Russian skater that was still in Moscow, to see if he could shed light on the sudden dropout. The Russian Yuri decided he would get the story himself, telling Phichit he would find out what the hell was going on from Victor directly.

 

* * *

 

Yurio smashed the buttons on the elevator as hard as he could then tapped his fingers on his arm impatiently as the door wouldn’t close fast enough for his taste. Finally, after the lift was on its way to the top floor, it frustratingly slowed and stopped on only the fifth floor. The boy was getting pissed and kicked the elevator door right before it opened to let a passenger board.

“Yurio! What the hell are you doing here!?” Victor was standing, opposite the threshold, holding a large fancy latte.

The man walked past the glaring fifteen-year-old as the boy looked him up and down.

“What the hell happened to you? You look like shit! Falling out my ass…you get in a fight or something? All hunching over…” Yurio slapped Victor hard on the left shoulder. “What did you forget this time? Something to make him quit?”

Victor crumpled at the waist from the hit, spilling a bit of the latte on the ground. “Ah…goddammit, Yurio!”

The boy clenched his teeth and waved his hands in front of himself frantically. “Sorry, sorry. You two must have _really_ gotten into a fight. Maybe roses would be a good idea…” Yurio stammered.

Victor looked at the boy questioningly. “Yurio…what the hell are you talking about!? What fight? Who quit?”

Word flew unbidden out of the boy’s mouth. "Well, Yuri said you two got into a fight…I guess he meant literally," he laughed at the mere thought of the pair fighting with fists. "I better not hear you two down the hall making kissy noises or some shit when he apologizes…"

Yurio them mused to himself out loud, “Hm, I wonder if he’d be apologizing for the fight or for quitting since you seem to know nothing of it.”

The coach just stared at the other, mouth agape. "What? You talked to Yuri!? When? Why?"

Yurio just rolled his eyes, “You _really_ don’t know what I’m talking about?”

Victor wiped his hand down his face, trying not to blow up at the boy that he was trapped in an elevator with for the next several floors up. “No! I don’t know!”

The boy crossed his arms and leaned against the elevator wall as it hummed up the levels. “Yuri announced that he quit in the press conference just a little bit ago…he just took off afterward—upset I guess. Look, just act surprised when he brings flowers, okay?”

The older man dropped his latte and grabbed the boy by his shoulders, pulling him off the wall. Panic seemed to creep up on coach’s face.

“What the hell! Hey, you got coffee on my sho—”

“Yurio.” Victor’s eyes were serious as they pierced through the younger, making the boy halt his words. “Are you telling me that Yuri is coming here? Now?”

The coach was given a sharp shove. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Yurio shrieked. " I guess…shit. I wasn't supposed to say anything. I said nothing! Be surprised dammit."

The ding of the elevator saved the boy from further questioning. “I’m getting out here. Don’t follow me; you’re acting weird. Forget what I said—I hope you work it out, okay?” Yurio rushed out of the elevator but stopped for a second when Victor called out to him.

“Yurio, thank you. You don't realize it, but thank you— you _truly_ saved me." Victor tried to sound as sincere as he could while his shoulder was still pulsing with pain and his mind was frantic with different scenarios in his head.

The boy just waved his hand flippantly in the air and continued walking away, saying, "Yeah, yeah, whatever," not realizing the true gravity of his actions.

The fifteen-year-old was utterly clueless about the two men he spent a majority of his time with the past year. As far as he knew, Victor was just skater that rose to fame due to his impressive choreography and skill, and Yuri was just a self-conscious skater that was trying to make it and caught the other’s eye with his determined attitude. Yuri Plisetsky was also innocent of the fact that he was used as a ploy for both sides in getting information, putting Victor Nikiforov and Yuri Katsuki in a dangerous game against each other.

 

* * *

 

A bellman quickly opened the gold-plated doors for the man that was about to run right into them. The bouquet of roses was so large that the short delivery man could barely see over the top of them. Three dozen red roses, complete with baby’s breath, and an exquisite crystal vase was carefully placed on the reservation desk.

“Hi..um, I have a delivery for a Mr. Victor Nikiforov,” the blond man with the blue cap informed the receptionist. The man was dressed in a white button down the front shirt with a blue coat that had the embroidery, “Moscow’s Finest Blooms,” on the front.

The lady at the desk smiled. “If you just leave it here please, we can take it up to the guest for you.”

“Actually miss, I was instructed to bring this directly to Mr. Nikiforov. You see, this vase is real crystal and worth quite a bit. I would be fired if something were to happen.” A brilliant smile graced the man’s face, making the woman blush.

“Well,” the woman blushed again, “I’m not supposed to…but…” She glanced around and leaned in toward the other. “Top floor, Presidential Suite.” She smiled sweetly and pulled back, “Now you have a nice day sir.”

“Thank you very much ma’am. You’ve saved me a heap of trouble!” The delivery boy carefully took the vase off the counter and headed toward the elevators.

After rounding the corner, the man slipped inside a nearby men’s restroom and quickly locked the door. The vase was set on the long marble vanity before each stall was checked for occupants. When the room was verified empty, he removed his coat and other accessories. Looking in the mirror, the man brushed back his coal black hair, then pulled out his shirt to cover the gun hidden in his back waistband. He checked to make sure the coat, wig, and hat were safely hidden out of sight in the trash can before glancing at himself once more. “Time to go apologize to my dear ex-coach.” Yuri gave a little cackle before exiting the restroom, using the large bouquet to cover his face as he walked to the stairwell entrance.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels like forever since I've updated one of my fics! Gah, sorry! I plan on updating others very soon.
> 
> I'm currently working on a novel in the Camp Nanowrimo challenge, which is a challenge to write a 50k word novel in 30 days. So, I've been a bit preoccupied. lol
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! <3

 

 

* * *

 

The walk all the way up to the top floor where there Presidential Suite could be found was exhausting, yet necessary as the fewer people to see the Yakuza’s face the better. To Yuri’s advantage, no one seemed to be trolling the halls on the top floor; his way from the stairway exit down the corridor was uneventful. Upon rounding the last corner to where the suite’s double doors were found, the man stopped short, almost dropping the vase.

The double French doors to the suite were wide open.

A huff escaped the irritated man, followed by, “What the fuck?” and more expletives under his breath. There was nothing he could do but go forward and find out what was going on. The woman at the front desk made no mention of Victor having checked out of the hotel already. Yuri smoothed his hair back and righted himself, proceeding forward with extreme caution in case thugs were hiding behind the open doors.

Peeking his head in the foyer, he saw no one and heard nothing but a faint hum, almost like someone—singing. Yuri ventured further into the gorgeous multi-thousand dollar a night room, making sure to glance all around for possible attacks. When nothing seemed amiss in the main area, he proceeded to follow the humming sound and came to a large master suite. A woman was inside, facing away from him, tidying up the four-poster king-size bed. Yuri cleared his throat loudly, trying to announce his presence delicately, but moved to tap the woman on the shoulder when she didn’t respond. He noticed why as he glanced at the back of her head—she was wearing wireless ear buds as she worked.

“Um, excuse me ma…” he started as he reached for the maid. She suddenly turned before he could finish and let out a small yelp. She was obviously not expecting someone to be directly behind her as she smoothed the sheets down.

The woman clutched her chest. “Oh! You scared me! Sorry, sir…I just wasn’t expecting anyone right there.” She patted his arm lightly in apology.

“No, I’m sorry I scared you.” Yuri looked down sheepishly, drumming his fingers on the crystal in his hand. “Has Mr. Nikiforov checked out already?”

“Oh, no sir; he just went to grab a drink at the bar. He said I could gather the towels and turn down the bed while he was out. If you have a delivery, I can put it on the table and make sure he gets it.” She smiled genuinely.

Yuri gave the maid the most charming look he could and replied, “I need to have him sign for this personally as requested from the sender. Do you mind if I wait here?”

The maid shrugged, “You can wait if you’d like, as long as you don’t mind me dusting around you.”

Yuri didn’t mind that one bit and told the young woman to dust all she wanted, noting that he appreciated her allowing him to wait so he wouldn’t get in trouble with his boss. While the maid went room to room to do a quick dusting, Yuri glanced as inconspicuously as he could for any signs of an ambush. He found none.

The woman almost bumped into him after leaving the master bathroom with a massive load of linens in her hands. “Oops, sorry, hon. This guest uses a lot of towels! Sheesh, I need to drop these off in the laundry room and pick up more soaps, okay? I’ll be right back!” she said as she carefully navigated her way to the exit, shutting the doors behind her.

“Not a problem. I’ll be here,” Yuri called out as he set the vase on the dining table.

The maid stopped at the laundry chute down the hall, but instead of dropping them off and going back, she continued to the stairs. She leaned against the wall upon entering the stairwell and rummaged in her pocket. A shaky breath left her lips as she held the wad of cash in her nervous hands. She began to count softly out loud, “One hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four hundred, five hundred. Shit, five hundred US Dollars just to leave the room when a guest’s visitor arrives!?” She couldn’t believe the amount of money she held in her hands. It would be a great help to paying off some of her bills. She wondered what the big deal was, thinking the guest just wanted a secret fling or something. The woman closed her eyes and thanked God that she was so fortunate.

While the maid was gone, Yuri took his time to check out each of the rooms in the small mansion-like guest suite. The place was so “Victor,” with fancy bottles of water and room service galore. The Yakuza was on the lookout for any traps or god-forbid, bombs, but he didn’t find anything odd or anyone hiding in any of the rooms. It looked as if Victor truly was downstairs getting shit-faced at the bar.

Yuri let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his face. “Damn,” he whispered as he pushed himself off the chair he was leaning against to make his way to leave. The man didn’t get very far as a few steps into the stride he felt the bite of cold steel press against the back of his head. He stopped moving instantly.

“Gun?” the voice behind demanded.

Yuri was silent. The steel of the pistol dug deeper into his skull. “Gun! Now!” the voice commanded again.

“Back,” was the only reply he received.

A hand quickly pushed up Yuri’s shirt and retrieved the Glock. The magazine thumped on the door as the Russian released it with a click; tossing the weapon across the room—far out of the Yakuza’s reach.

“Hands,” was the second demand.

In one swift movement, Yuri’s hands were looped together behind his back using a thick cable tie. “Turn.” The assailant barked. The Yakuza did as he was told and turned toward the voice.

The pair locked eyes in a hate-filled glare. Yuri was the first to make a move, hacking up and spewing a huge glob of spit directly onto Victor’s smirking face.

The Russian calmly wiped the spittle—grinning, then reared back and punched Yuri as hard as he could in the jaw. The Japanese man’s neck whipped back with so much force a few cracks echoed throughout the space.

“Charming you little fuck,” Victor said while the other turned back around and spat blood on the pristine carpet.

A knee to the gut was next, causing the bloodied man to double over and almost fall to the ground if it wasn’t for the hand that captured a mass of his black hair, pulling upwards. Yuri hissed at the pain coursing throughout his body.

The Yakuza spat more blood in Victor’s direction upon speaking. “How did you know I was coming?” It was hard for him to catch is breath, but he continued after a few coughs. “You were hiding on the other balcony and came in…you shit…fuck…”

Victor just grunted and pulled the other’s head back even farther with his ebony anchor. “Shhh…Yuri, enough. Use your mouth for more entertaining things than cursing. You lost, dear. Your pathetic attempt at trying to ambush me failed. But I guess I can’t think too poorly of you—you did bring me flowers after all.”

“They’re for your funeral, you dick.” The Yakuza’s face twisted with pain and aggravation.

“No, not today. But, now that you mentioned it, thinking of your funeral is making my dick hard. So…on your knees, bitch.” The Russian made sure a round was in the chamber before shoving the other to his knees, bringing him eye level with a growing bulge.

With one hand Victor unfastened his pants. “Since you’re so keen on trying my patience, you’re going to help me try my self-control.”

Yuri clamped his mouth tightly shut.

“You are going to suck my cock while I have a loaded gun to your head. Literally. Let’s see if I can control my trigger finger when I come in your mouth. Usually, I clench up as I come, so this will be a worthwhile experiment, don’t you think?”

The Yakuza’s piercing brown eyes were directly on Victor, almost daring him to do it. The barrel of the gun was pressing deeply into the side of the man’s head, but he paid no mind.

“Don’t look so mad Yuri. If I’m successful, then you’ll get a nice creamy load down your throat. If I’m not, well…at least I don’t have to clean the carpets.”

“Open your mouth. Now.”

Victor didn’t bother to wait and pinched Yuri’s nose shut with his thumb and index finger. As the other was struggling from running out of air, the Russian gave one last warning right before the need for oxygen got the better of the Yakuza.

“I’m sure you know what’ll happen if you bite. Now—suck!”

Victor shoved himself as far as he could down Yuri’s throat, making the other gasp and choke around the intrusion. The hand gripping the silky black strands grew tighter as the Bratva took a few short strokes into the wet bliss. Content sighs and gurgles bounced off the room’s walls as the man teased himself by rubbing his dick on the reddened mouth, followed by a painful deep throat dunk.

Yuri struggled and pulled away from the punishing barrage of facial fucking, but the tearing of hair from his scalp stopped him from moving as much as he wanted. The Yakuza could take some pain, but pain on sensitive areas was just too much for even the most brutish man to take. Still, he tried to wiggle and pull his hands as much as he could in the straps, attempting to loosen them.

Spit began to pool in Yuri’s mouth and run down his chin as the assault continued. The bitter taste of precum mixed with the blood from the punch was nauseating. He could feel his teeth scraping down the thick shaft in his mouth, but Victor didn’t seem to notice—the man was too engulfed in the sensation of unrestrained fucking to care about a slight scrape here or there.

The Russian let out moan after moan; his speed increased dramatically as the gun knocked against the other’s head, bruising the tender scalp. The slap of damp skin echoed; Victor’s balls swung heavily, splattering saliva and blood from Yuri’s chin through the air.

“Uh, ugh, oh god, Yuri! I’m about to come. I…I don’t know if I can…control it!” Victor half moaned and shouted at the same time.

It was almost as if time started moving slowly as the Russian started to tense up, his balls moving close to his body as they readied for release. Yuri could almost hear the other’s hand shaking on the pistol’s grip. The younger prayed that the gun didn’t have a hair trigger; he wouldn’t survive this if it did. Yuri hid his worried eyes, squeezing them so tight it hurt, making him see lights behind his eyelids. He was preparing for the worst.

His ex-coach halted his erratic thrusts for a short second, and then it happened.

A flood of warm salty liquid flooded Yuri Katsuki’s mouth and throat, followed by a song of moaning and shrieking. Spurt after spurt of the sticky come covered the younger man’s tongue and teeth. The gun was abandoned, tossed on the nearby table, so Victor could fully take advantage of the warm hole his cock was exploding into. Two strong hands threaded through Yuri’s soft hair and pushed his sore face into the other’s crotch. Victor’s orgasm was coming to a close, indicated by the weakening thrusts and lighter moans.

Suddenly the older man tore his cock from the warm cocoon, using his hands to immediately shut the other’s jaw closed. “Swallow what your gracious ex-coach gave you!” Yuri begrudgingly gulped down the fluid. It was better than leaving it sit in his mouth to accost his poor taste buds. “Good boy.” Victor padded the younger’s head like a dog.

“You suck cock wonderfully! And look, our experiment was a success! You’re still alive.” Victor tucked himself back in. “Well, maybe it was a failure then,” he reconsidered after a moment.

The Russian looked down at the bleeding man before him, taking note of the mess of blood and bodily fluids littering the expensive flooring below.

“Yuri! You ruined the carpet!” The man put his hand to his face is frustration, smoothing his hair back as he looked toward the bathroom.

“You, stay,” he commanded.

Victor walked out of the main area into the side rooms to find any spare towels to clean up.

Yuri meanwhile was wiggling as much as he could. He had been able to loosen the straps a touch with force, but being directly in Victor’s sight put him at a disadvantage. Now that he was alone for the moment, he was able to center himself and gather all the strength he had to push his arms apart break the straps. After a few frantic tries, Yuri heard the snap he wanted to hear.

“Ah, good boy! Just like Makka!” Victor cooed as he strolled into the vast room with a towel and stared at Yuri, still on his knees and face hanging down.

“Yuri?” The man asked when the other didn’t make sound. When no answer came, Victor walked closer toward the crumpled man. “Are you crying?” He stepped closer still. “Was it that good, getting a taste of a five-time gold medalist?” Now he was directly in front of the other, staring down in confusion.

Without warning, Yuri bolted up from the spot on the floor, nailing Victor right in the chin with a punishing head butt. A grab to the inner knee made the man fly backward, falling to the ground, but not before catching the corner of a chair on the way down.

The Yakuza shook his head to stop the spinning from the hit before towering over his fallen enemy. “I think you’ve gone soft, baby—in more ways than one.”

The gash from the chair corner was bleeding rather heavily; Victor just groaned at the comment.

“Just relax. It’s my turn now…” was the last thing the Russian heard before drifting into unconsciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

 

* * *

 

 

“Any change?” Yuri asked one of his people as he walked in the door, still wearing his Mizuno warm-up gear.

The other man turned and bowed. “No, Aniki. The Russian woke up hours ago after we checked and bandaged the gash on the back of his head, per your instructions, but has said nothing except, ‘Where the hell is our money?’ and ‘I’m going to kill you all.’

Yuri sighed as he threw his skate bag on the kitchen counter and grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge, guzzling it. “Shit, I don’t know why they think I have their damn missing money. We have our own; we don’t need their filthy cash.”

“I don’t know, Sir. Maybe because we are the easiest to blame? They would never want to admit it was an inside job.” Yuri nodded in agreement.

The subordinate rushed to a door to open it for his boss. “Oh, and, Nishi wants to know if he can _persuade_ the prisoner further.”

“Who is he again?” The young Yakuza had many people under him; sometimes it was hard to keep track.

“The man with knife skills, Sir. Akihiko has already given him a beating, mostly to pay him back for what he dared to do to you, Boss.”

Yuri put his hand to his chin in thought. “No, let's not carve up his face just yet. His body is a different matter, however.” The lower ranking Yakuza followed his boss back to the kitchen where he picked up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “Tell them a few shallow cuts are fine on the chest, nothing serious—that’s my job. I want to play too.” The other nodded and took his leave. The younger man grabbed a nearby chair and started putting on his skates once more along with the hard guards.

Yuri took his time meandering down to the basement, hearing a few screams as he got closer. His face was a mix of concern and glee. Honestly, he didn’t know how to feel. One part of him wanted his former Russian coach to pay with a bullet to the head; the other wanted to protect him from the torture.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri removed his hard guards with a grin before entering the dim room. His eyes went wide at the view he got as he opened the door. Victor was strung up by his wrists and hanging from the ceiling, shirtless with thin rivers of blood running down his chest. His men did as they were told, none of the wounds looked too serious—painful but not life threatening. The bruising around prisoner’s torso proved the fun the men had earlier with a few good kicks and punches. The former coach looked up as the Yakuza entered, giving him an icy glare.

“Hello, Victor. I see my men have been treating you right—all the fine comforts of a cell.” The Russian spat out a bit of blood in response. Yuri folded his arms on his chest. “Well, there’s no reason to be rude,” he scoffed. “Boys, take him down.” The underlings obeyed, removing the man from the hook that held the shackles. They propped the coach up under his shoulders as they awaited further instruction.

“Restraints off,” Yuri commanded. “Put him on the floor.” One of the Yakuza eyed his Aniki in question, but didn’t dare voice his concern and unlocked the chains. The other man gave Victor a rough shove down onto the cold stone floor. The coach fell on his knees painfully. “You two, flip him on his back; hold him down, arms out—palms up,” Yuri ordered.

As Victor was held down, his arms spread wide in a vulnerable position; he moved his head up slightly to eye the man that was stalking forward in his direction. Yuri had a cruel smile on his face as he moved, stopping at Victor’s right hip. The former coach glanced down toward his feet and saw the Yakuza was wearing his figure skates. The other could see the confusion flit across the restrained man’s face with a hint of shock and disgust.

"Look at you, still trying to act like a coach at a time like this,” Yuri commented. "I can see that little vein popping up in your head. How dare I commit the ultimate sin of walking around on my blades without the guards!" Yuri inhaled sharply in mock horror, putting his hands on his cheeks.

"You call yourself a professional! Even as a thug, you know better Katsuki!" Victor glared as his former student, disdain clearly on his face.

Yuri breathed out an exaggerated laugh. “Men—I want to see those fingers.” He wiggled his fingers in front of his face with an evil grin. One of the Yakuza knelt down, taking Victor’s right hand and spread the digits wide.

Yuri inched closer, tapping his toe pick on the trembling hand before him.

"Have you ever seen what freshly sharpened blades can do to a person's fingers?" Yuri asked, looking directly into those suddenly frightened blue eyes. "Most people think a figure skate blade will slice a finger off like a finely sharpened knife, but no, we know the blades have two sharpened edges, neither being sharp enough to to make a fine straight cut like that.”

Yuri licked his lips before continuing, another smirk gracing his features as Victor started to grit his teeth. “Sharpened blades slice through ice like it was mere butter, a reason why it's so hard to stop on newly sharpened blades; however, still not sharp enough to slice through flesh the same. But, given enough force, the damage is done more by crushing with only minimal slicing, making the injury all the more painful**. And right now, you don't have the freezing ice under you to ease any pain."

The Bratva’s cold exterior started to fade as Yuri moved and tapped his blade on Victor’s extended pinky finger, just below the first knuckle. Ocean blue eyes darted back and forth, pleading with the determined chocolate eyes above him. “Tell me, Rosuke*, do you know what happens when a lower ranking Yakuza disappoints or dishonors their boss?” Victor did not answer, but he had a feeling. “They cut off their own finger as payment for the slight, giving it to their Aniki in retribution. As my coach, Victor, you work for me, and you have disappointed me immensely. You owe me a finger.”

Victor’s eyes screwed tightly shut as he felt Yuri press down on his exposed digit. The older man couldn’t hide the pain very well as the pressure increased as the blade started moving back and forth in a sawing motion. The former coach’s face scrunched, but he didn’t make a sound, only clenching his jaw as tight as it could go. A small line of blood slithered down Yuri’s gleaming stainless-steel blade as he pressed harder. Victor began to bite his tongue to distract himself from what was going to be an extremely painful removal of his last digit.

Yuri chuckled as he watched Victor’s face redden and crumple in agony. Unexpectedly, his former coach’s eyes popped open and a tear slid down his sweaty cheek. His voice is cracked and was barely a whisper, but audible. “Please…please…don’t do this.”

Something in Katsuki broke—hearing the small voice, seeing his former coach in so much pain from his direct actions, and those beautiful pleading blue eyes staring at him—he couldn’t do it. At that moment he was unable to go through with ruthlessly removing the other’s finger as he’d planned. When he walked through the door he was so sure of what he was going to do to make the bastard pay for the hurt he caused, but now he simply couldn’t—not like this.

Yuri released the finger from under his foot, pissed at himself and Victor. He gave the man on the ground a swift kick to the side with his toe pick. The hit would definitely leave at least a nasty bruise if not some punctures. “Fuck.” Yuri threaded his fingers through his slicked hair, pulling it. “Get his ass up, put his shirt back on, and throw him in the interrogation room—the one with a table and a drain.” His men answered, “Got it, boss,” before dragging the coach up by his thinning hair.

The Yakuza boss stayed in the room after the others left. He was beyond angry, mostly at himself. This wasn’t the first time he had to wrestle with the feelings he had for his coach; it prevented him from doing his job—and that could get him killed. Yuri tore his skates off and launched one at the far wall. The blade and leather bounced off the stone, then clattered to the floor. It was then the man realized how fortunate he was that he was wearing his old skates that day, not wanting to dirty his good pair with the Russian’s blood.

 

* * *

 

 

Victor was locked in the interrogation room for hours, handcuffed to the table. He stared at his wrapped finger, grateful to the pitying old woman that bandaged it for him as she gave him his first food he’d had in days. Apparently, the Japanese mafia thought starving him would help; it only made him more resolved not to divulge any information on why they were going after Katsuki for the money. Even after the beating, he still did not speak, but it honestly wasn’t because he had such strength. It was because he didn’t know anything. He was told to go after Katsuki on the information that they had proof the Yakuza group was the cause of their current predicament. The coach was to watch him, get close to him, even bed him if needed, but was never told the whole reasoning behind it. Knowing the Bratva, he never would know. He had thoughts of trying to convince Yuri of the truth, that he didn’t know anything, but all that went out the window when Yuri walked through the blacked out door of the room he was chained in. He was not going to plead for his life.

It made Victor’s heart pound just seeing the other man, especially now how he was dressed. God, that man was beautiful, as wore the black slacks and a button down the front with a light jacket flawlessly over his muscular frame. Victor was fighting with himself; he couldn’t let his desires get to him—but he could use it against the other.

Yuri walked over and sat across from his seated prisoner.

“Give the money back— I’ll let you live and have a piece of what you’ve been desiring.” The former coach laid down his ultimatum with the utmost conviction, giving a little wink at the end.

The Yakuza snorted. “Did you forget _you_ are the one chained to _my_ table right now? You don’t make demands of any kind.”

“So, is that a, ‘no’? You were so kind to spare my finger. I thought we had something, you and me.” He grinned at the other and licked his lips. “Why don’t you take off these cuffs and see what it’s like to be inside a living legend?” The man didn’t want to be taken by his former student, but it was at least a way to get free of the shackles.

Yuri dug in his pocket to bring out a silver key, holding it up. “How about I remove those cuffs and just beat the information out of you instead? I’m sure it won’t take long, being that you're injured.”

The Bratva was stunned when Yuri leaned over, unlocked the handcuffs, and tossed them aside. Victor couldn’t figure out if Yuri was just screwing with him or if he was seriously going to brawl. He got his answer as the metal table pushed out and nailed him in the gut by a powerful shove.

“Gah!” The former coach choked out as the pain reawakened in his midsection. Yuri was on him in a second, grabbing his collar and flinging him from the chair to the floor with a thud. The punch to his face stunned him momentarily, but he was able to fend off subsequent hits to the jaw. Yuri narrowly missed a knee to the crotch but was caught off guard with a hard yank on his hair followed by a hard kick to the ankle. The pair went round and round, throwing punches, knees, and kicks at one another. Both were out of breath and in pain, but neither wanted to give up. Victor finally was able to get the upper hand for a moment, throwing his former student into the metal table, slamming his head into the cold steel. In the younger man’s daze, the Russian grabbed him and pinned him on the table, snatching his pistol from its holster in one stealthy sweep.

It felt like time stood still for the both of them as Victor pointed the gun in Yuri’s face. The two men locked eyes, judging each other—Victor hesitating on the trigger and Yuri feeling his breath quicken and heart pound as he stared down the barrel of his own glock.

Yuri was the first to break the silence. “You gonna do it pussy? My men will slaughter you! Go ahead, do it, blow my brains out…right here, fucker!” The bravado that dripped from his antagonizing words was a ploy to psyche himself up for his own impending death. He couldn’t let the fear reach his eyes.

Victor shook his head like he was disappointed before tucking the weapon in his back. “I’d rather blow something else.” He winked at the furious man he was holding down. “So, shut the hell up before I change my mind.” The former coach socked the Yakuza with a hard punch to the mouth, bloodying his bottom lip once more. “That’s for almost taking off my finger, you little fuck.” He leaned closer, a pink tongue flicking out to lick the blood off the other’s split lip. A chuckle starts to reverberate from his chest. “Yuri…did you just get hard?” The other turned his face away. “Do you like being held down by my hips?”

Without warning, Yuri was pushed down all the way onto the table and his hands pulled over his head; a strong grip keeping them in place. Victor was older, more experienced, with training that was much more rigorous than Yuri’s. The other never realized the man’s true strength before. Victor attacked with his free hand, popping all the buttons down Yuri’s shirt in one sweep, revealing a taut chest and erect nipples. “You _do_ want me.” The older murmured as he pinched a nipple between his fingers

Victor lost it at the sight of Yuri being under his power,  diving for his battered mouth, licking it clean of the drying crimson. He moaned as he shoved his tongue inside Yuri’s warm cavern, letting his wet muscle explore every crevice of the younger man’s mouth. He was all too pleased when he swallowed a moan from the other as his tongue joined the fun. The Russian’s hips pushed hard against his rival’s as his reasoning gave way for the pleasures of the flesh.

Yuri started to enjoy the sensations as his body got hot and his hips moved of their own accord, rutting against the attacking man. Slowly he felt his wrists being released as thin fingers traveled down his arms, stopping at his chest to tweak the hard peaks on display. The Japanese man was momentarily stunned, but gave in to his carnal desires, running his fingers through the other’s silver hair and down his back. Victor bucked as he felt the squeeze to his ass. He hungrily sucked and kissed down Yuri’s neck in response. The younger was rocking and panting as his neck was covered in wet open mouthed kisses; the moans and murmurs got more insistent. Victor was so into the feast before him he didn’t notice as the gun slipped out of his waistband.

As Victor continued to grope, pinch, and kiss the Yakuza’s chest, he started to notice a glint of something by his head. Glancing to his left, the grave mistake became evident as his brain processed the glock pointed at his temple—the very same one he had stolen from Yuri. The Bratva rose from his ministrations, slowly, eyes wide as saucers, staring at Yuri’s face as the man pushed the weapon into his head with a grin. Victor mentally berated himself for being so stupid and thinking with his dick instead of using common sense. A frown graced his heart shaped mouth as he thought about the fatal error he’d made—it would be his last.

Yuri considered pulling the trigger for only a moment before deciding to satisfy his lust instead. He had a gorgeous man on top of him with a raging hard on—surely he could kill him later. He clicked the safety on and let the weapon fall out of his hand, dropping it to the floor with a clatter. Victor didn’t move, so Yuri took the initiative and grabbed his head to force his wanton tongue down his throat once more. His former coach melted on contact of the soft lips and whined when his dick was groped through his pants.

The Yakuza tugged on his rival’s waistband before diving a hand down to caress the hardness that was about to break free. Victor took the hint and unzipped himself while Yuri did the same. Victor attacked the other’s pale skin as he pressed his crotch against the spread thighs, red welts were peppered down his collarbone in between open-mouthed kisses. The pair was about to free their erections when the door opened with a bang. Two men in black suits barged in, stopping for a moment to take in the situation.

"Get the fuck out! How dare you interrupt me!" Yuri turned to scream at them while Victor stayed between the warm thighs.

The men didn’t move; they were too stunned to move. "Aniki? Boss!? Does he have you pinned!?” The shorter of the two asked in a panicked voice. “Is he choking you!? Let him go you piece of shit!" The other shrieked as he went for his gun.

Yuri was beyond enraged at his subordinates’ lack of respect. "He's about to choke me with his dick! Now get the fuck out, or you are both dead!!! You see nothing, do you understand me!?" The younger man spat out the threat with piercing eyes as if he was daring his men to say something.

The interrupting henchmen glanced at one another but didn’t dare speak. Both bowed deeply before apologizing at the rudeness of their behavior. They had thought something was awry since Yuri had been in the room so long; they took it upon themselves to check. The look of pure hatred crossed their faces as Victor looked directly at them, giving them a curt smile and wink. Yuri was about to order them again when they came to their senses and quickly slammed the door leaving the pair of enemies alone.

Victor snickered before attacking Yuri’s adam’s apple with a hard suck. "I'm gonna make you choke on my dick, huh? Well, I think I already did that—so I'm going to take your ass instead."

Both were lost to the lust. Yuri planted a wet kiss on the Russian’s mouth, mumbling, "Oh, god yes,” before he tried to shimmy out of his pants. Victor kindly assisted by tearing off both shoes and removing the offending cloth with a hard yank with both hands. Yuri felt exposed as he sat bare-assed on the cold table with a shirt torn open and a jacket over the top. The jacket didn’t last long as it was sacrificed for a blanket to lay on as he pushed himself up the table and spread his legs.

The former coach seductively inched his long fingers across the Yakuza’s knees and up the sensitive span of his thighs. Yuri shuddered in response and let out a breathy groan. Victor freed himself of the constricting pants and tugged on his hardness, making the other lick his lips. The younger man flinched as the other spread his cheeks wide and gave the pulsing rosebud a sloppy lick that reached from his hole all the way up to his tip. Yuri grabbed the silver head of hair between his legs and pushed the tongue lower for another dip inside.

After teasing the tight heat a few times, Victor attempted to open his lover with a spit-slicked finger. Yuri tried to relax, but his entrance was still too closed for the other to insert even two adjacent digits. “Yuri, I know you want my cock inside you and believe me, I want to give it to you, but I need something slicker than saliva—you’re just too tight.” The Russian rose to give the other a deep kiss and await suggestions.

Yuri’s whined as he pressed his length against Victor’s leaking cock. In a moment of clarity, he breathed out, "Blood,” while running his fingers down his former coach’s back. Victor wasn’t sure he heard correctly so asked what the other meant.

"Blood," Yuri said again. "It stays slippery for a while." He groaned while giving Victor’s ass a squeeze. "Knife, on my right ankle—get it."

The Russian didn't hesitate and ran a hand down Yuri’s right leg, stopping at his sock. He pulled out a small flat switchblade and pressed it open when it was in front of Yuri’s face.

"You had a knife this whole time, and you didn't use it on me?" Victor asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Shut up. Just put a slice on my chest to get enough blood to lube yourself,” The Yakuza instructed. He was getting impatient, running his hands down Victor’s sides and chest. Victor gazed at the other thoughtfully, unsure of the request.

"What? We have enough blood on our hands, why not on our dicks too?" Yuri laughed, licking his lips.

Victor shook his head in disbelief. "You're lucky I’m painfully hard right now and need to fuck _this_ bad," he said as he sliced a fine line down Yuri's exposed upper chest.  The younger man shuttered as the wound on his chest began to seep.

The former coach tossed the knife and squeezed the cut, watching the red bubble up. He covered his fingers in crimson, making him look like he just took out someone’s heart. Yuri didn’t even flinch at the sight or at the pressure the bloody fingers inflicted as they pushed hard to open him up. The slick liquid did the trick, and after a few tries, two of Victor's fingers were pumping in and out of the loosened hole. The older man was mesmerized at the tightness on his fingers as he scissored them to increase the opening.

"Enough," Yuri shouted after his lover managed to add a third finger."Do it!"

Victor leaned down to give the Yakuza a deep bruising kiss as he gathered more of the leaking red fluid and covered his cock. It looked like a massacre on his most intimate parts, but he didn't care. It would serve its purpose and allow him to plow into the aching man before him.

Yuri latched on to the Russian’s back as the older man lined up and breached the tight ring. The Yakuza moaned and wiggled his hips as the girth of his ex-coach penetrated him. It was slightly painful, but the lubricant was adequate for how impatient the younger man was being. “I’m going all the way in,” Victor announced before he raised Yuri’s hips and sunk himself inside the smoothest hole he’d ever been inside. Yuri squeaked, took a deep breath, then let it out as he accommodated to the sudden stretch. “Oh, yes, Victor! Just fuck me hard. Please, I _need_ it!” The Japanese man pleaded as if his life depended on it. He wrapped his legs around his rival to meet the thrusts that were starting to come quicker. Sounds of sweat slicked skin echoed off the concrete walls. Breathy moans and murmurs were heard between sloppy kisses pinched nipples.

Victor lifted Yuri’s legs over his shoulders as he pounded as deep and as hard as he could into the gaping cavern. He wiped more blood off the other’s chest wound and began to jack Yuri off with his slicked hand. Yuri’s eyes all about rolled to the back of his head as a particularly hard thrust hit his prostate, making him see stars. The younger man came with a grunt, covering his chest and nearly missing his face. “Good, Yuri—coming for your coach. That’s a good student.” Victor purred. “Relax your hole and get ready to be pumped full of my Russian seed. You better keep it all in your ass! That’s the least you can do after what you’ve put me through.” Yuri was in the moment and replied, “Give it to me! Come in my ass! Shoot it in deep, baby!” The comment just spurred the Bratva on, making him slam into his lover deeply, holding his position as he flooded the other’s insides. The Russian was gasping and breathing heavy as he continued to spurt ropes of come up Yuri’s ass at the other’s request.

The former coach’s thrusts became weaker as his orgasm waned. He let the Yakuza’s legs down as his softened dick slipped out of the sloppy hole. Yuri pulled him down to give him a deep kiss of thanks while exploring his mouth once more. “That was incredible,” Yuri panted as he gazed into Victor’s eyes. “But…shit…what did we just do?" His chocolate eyes searched ocean blue for answers, needing an explanation for their behavior.

Victor pushed himself up and tucked his messy cock back in as carefully as he was able. "I think I just fucked my enemy. And it was fantastic,” he replied with a grin. “I hope your ass enjoyed its first taste of Russian cock.” He moved the black strands out of the other’s eyes before giving his forehead a kiss. “I know my dick was quite comfortable inside its Japanese cocoon. We should do this again.”

Yuri shook his head in agreement, getting up from the table and walking around to find his discarded clothing and weapons. Victor sighed in happiness and took the other’s place on the table, leaning back and closing his eyes. He hummed in contentment as he never remembered a time where he emptied his balls so completely inside a person before.

 _“Yuri was so tight—so warm—so...”_ Victor opened his eyes. _“…so…pointing a gun at me right now!”_ he thought. The blissful feelings turned cold and frightening in an instant as his eyes focused on the barrel of the gun pointed in his direction. Slowly Victor got up from the table and eased his way away from the lethal weapon, palms up in surrender.

"Yuri?" he questioned with an uneasy waiver to his voice. "What are you doing? Are you...are you _really_ going to kill me while you have my warm come dripping out of your ass!?" Victor asked in a disgusted yet shocked voice.

The other didn't answer immediately, but the pain in his eyes was devastating. "I'm sorry,” was all Yuri said as a bang echoed throughout the tiny room.

Victor Nikiforov fell backward against the concrete wall. A crimson smear followed his tall form as it slid down the concrete; blood pooled as he sat staring at the man that just shot him. The Russian coughed, blood collecting at the corners of his mouth. “Yu—Yu—ri…why…” was all the dying man was able to get out.

Yuri bent down in front of the man. “Because, dumbass, you’re my enemy. Thanks for the fuck though—now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to clean this filth out of my asshole.” The Yakuza stood when he heard the commotion from outside; his men were rushing down the hall toward the shot no doubt.

Another pop sounded just as a group of Yakuza got to the door. The men stood, guns at the ready as the door opened—they didn’t know who would exit. Yuri stood before them, gun holstered with a smirk on his face. The men peered over their boss to see Victor Nikiforov covered with Yuri's black suit coat.

"He wouldn't cooperate and managed to gouge me in the chest. I got tired of it.” Yuri ran his bloodied fingers through his mussed hair. “Get me a body bag and a stretcher. Tell Kai to meet me in the underground entrance.”

The men looked to one another. "Sir, we can dispose of the body for you." Another spoke, "Yeah, don't get your hands dirty with that pig."

“No, I’m dumping the bastard off on Bratva turf myself, goddammit! I won’t have him contaminating Japanese soil as he rots.” Yuri spoke coldly. His men knew not to try his patience when he got into a mood as dark at this. “Now, go!” he shouts.

Yuri slumped to the floor as soon as he was alone, putting his head in his hands, trying to hide the tears. He glanced at his watch, counting, as he waited for his subordinates to return. He let his gaze fall to the slumped man across from him—it was a mistake as he had to suppress more tears. In the quiet, he heard a song faintly playing. One of the other bosses must be in the Christmas spirit; he thought as he heard a few notes of _Hallelujah_. He couldn’t stop himself from humming some of the verses.

 

_Well baby, I've been here before_

_I've seen this room and I've walked this floor_

_I used to live alone before I knew ya_

_And I've seen your flag on the marble arch_

_And love is not a victory march_

_It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Well, maybe there's a God above_

_But all I've ever learned from love_

_Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya_

_And it's not a cry that you hear at night_

_It's not somebody who's seen the light_

_It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

 

Yuri sighed, getting up and clearing his face, setting it into a stone facade. "Merry Christmas, Victor....and...Happy Birthday,” he whispered into the dark room. "How ironic, to die on not only Christmas Day but your birthday as well—poor schmuck."

He breathed out, “I can do this,” as he smoothed his hair and straightened himself out. He looked worse for wear with his shirt torn and blood on his chest and hands. "Gah, those fucks better hurry up."

Yuri was about to stomp out of the basement room to rip someone a new one when his thought process suddenly halted with a grimace. “Ugh, his come is leaking out of my ass now. Fuck!”

Thankfully Kai entered the basement before Yuri lost it to let his boss know the car was ready.Yuri instructed him to call the airstrip and get his jet set to fly immediately, setting a course for Russia. The body bag was carefully laid in the sedan’s trunk on Yuri’s instruction. Kai, his driver, tried to insist on helping, but Yuri became irate, grabbing the keys and taking off like a crazy person, leaving dust and rocks in his wake. The young Yakuza was on a mission and no one was going to slow him down.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you guys think so far? How's this all going to play out? I hope you are enjoying it as much as I enjoy writing it. <3
> 
> \-----  
> * Rosuke is a derogatory Japanese insult for a Russian.
> 
> ** Do not try this at home or at your local rink. I repeat, do not put your figure skate blades (or any blade for that matter) to the test to see if they can cut you. It's possible with the right angle and force. Just don't try it; I am not liable for any harm doing otherwise may cause. xD


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

* * *

  

Yuri was sitting at his large desk at his family's headquarters in Japan, swirling a glass of whisky. His foul mood hung in the air like tobacco smoke. Rubbing his temples furiously, he was about to throw something heavy—or shoot something he’d regret. Instead of wrecking his pristine office, he launched the pen he was holding across the room and face planted on the cool mahogany desktop.

One eye peeked open as he felt something below his desk. Sliding his head down, he glanced at his leg. A tan-colored furry paw was scratching at his slate khakis insistently. A wide grin spread across the Yakuza's face as he stared at the furball.

"Thanks for the pen back, buddy," he said as he petted the dogs fluffy head and scratched him behind the ears.

Makkachin barked and pushed his nose into the muscular leg— determined to get his new master's attention.

Yuri sat up and stretched, groaning loudly. "What?" he teased with a shake of his head. Makka bounded up, tail wagging energetically, putting both paws on the man's knee while continuing to whine and paw.

"Okay, okay. You want up? _He_ used to do that didn't he, boy?"

Yuri's former grin faded as he unbuttoned his holster and took the pistol out, setting it on the desk for safety.

"Ok, up," he patted his knees then motioned with wide arms.

The large dog leaped into Yuri's embrace, cuddling into his chest. Nosing his jaw, Makka whined and licked his chin before laying down, taking up the Yakuza's entire lap.

An outstretched hand stroked through the silky fur, massaging and kneading the dog's head soothingly. "Shhh...I know, boy, but Victor isn't here." The dog growled as if he knew.

"Don't worry; you're safe with me." Makkachin looked up into Yuri's deep brown eyes. The man held the dog's face, rubbing each long ear simultaneously, staring right back. "I won't let any of these big scary guys hurt you, got that?" The poodle turned his head to lick at the Yakuza’s hand in understanding.

A hard knock on the door startled them both, making Makka jump from the warm lap and run to the door, barking protectively.

"Enter,” Yuri announced.

A man stepped in, ignoring Makka jumping at his legs, and bowed to his boss.

"Aniki, I wanted to inform you that your suspicions were correct. The man moved closer to the desk, setting down the day’s newspaper. Yuri glanced at his subordinate before picking it up and reading the headline. It read, _Four Russian mafia members found executed—public fears a war._ The young boss shrugged and tossed the paper back toward the other man. “Yeah, as expected. It was a Bratva inside job all along and now because of their public show of might citizens are terrified. Oh well, at least we won’t be involved.”

"Yes, Sir.” The lower ranked Yakuza bowed once more. “Yakov Feltsman did not want to meet with you but has informed our Oyabun* that our family is free from further attacks due to this matter.

"Wow, what an apology—not. That old guy still too pissed to meet with me huh? Ah well then, fuck it. Damn asshole.” Yuri shifted uncomfortably in his leather chair, patting his leg for Makka to come and take his mind off a brewing headache.

"Sir, with all due respect, you did take away his equivalent of a son." The loose-lipped underling started sweating nervously when he realized he’d said too much. He stepped back a fraction as his boss covered the pistol on his desk with a hand. “Aniki, I…”

Yuri glared, his chocolate eyes piercing. “Are you siding with _them_?” He picked up the weapon and casually twirled it in his fingers as he waited for an answer.

“No! No, I wouldn’t!” The repentant man dropped to his hands and knees in a, _please don’t kill me,_ bow. Yuri let the man panic a little before holstering his gun, sighing. “Whatever. What's done is done. I won't pursue those Bratva bastards anymore if they leave us alone."

"Understood." The other man rose. “I’ll leave you. Again, I deeply apologize for my outburst.” He bowed a fourth time and departed as quickly as his feet could take him.

Yuri settled in his chair, propping his feet up, before grabbing a large shiny rubber ball out of his desk.

“Fetch, Makka!” The dog scrambled to catch the bouncing ball and return it to his new master. Yuri got lost in thought as he and Victor's pet bonded. It had been an eventful year after he sped away with the body of his ex-coach in the trunk of a car. He still couldn’t believe it all happened as it did. It was a stupid endeavor—one he hoped he wouldn’t regret. His actions played back in his mind like it was happening all over again.

 

***

* * *

 

Yuri sped away from the parking area, throwing up gobs of dust and debris as his tires squealed. His mind was muddled and confused as his heart raced much too fast, making it hard to breathe. The young man was cursing as he dug in his pockets for a cell phone. Grabbing it, he punched in a few numbers for his speed dial while eyeing the road. It was a reckless move, but nothing compared to the rest he’d done that day. He murmured, “Come on, come on!” as he waited for an answer. He let out a sigh of relief when he heard the connection.

“Hiro? Listen, I need you to meet me at our private airstrip, south of Tokyo in about 10 minutes. Bring the van. Got it?” He didn’t leave room for discussion, but the man on the line apparently didn’t get the hint. He held the phone away from his ear as the complaints started rolling in. Yuri slammed his hand down on the steering wheel. “What!? Excuse me? Did you forget who you’re talking to?” The other’s apologies could be heard through the handset. “No, did you fucking forget who’s paying your daughter’s tuition!?” Yuri screeched as his hands flew off the wheel, making him over-correct in jerky movements as he continued to threaten. “Do you _want_ me to have to pay her a little visit? Because I’ll do it!”

Yuri felt nothing as the older man’s cries on the phone reached sickening levels. “Quit blabbering. I’ll see you in ten.” The phone went silent as he hung up. The man cursed as he weaved through traffic, feeling slight relief as the exit signage he was looking for came into view slightly over ten agonizing minutes later.

The Yakuza pulled up alongside the medical van waiting on the airstrip. Jumping out and releasing the trunk he yelled for Hiro to get his ass out and help him. The old doctor wasn’t about to test a man with a gun; he ran around the vehicles while putting on his gloves and carrying his bag. He gasped as he opened the trunk.

“What the fuck do you want me to do? Look at him! Goddamit—Go!” he shouted at Yuri, while he tore open Victor’s shirt to check his heart with a stethoscope, “Get the stretcher, bring it over! Now.” The frantic Japanese boss was running on adrenaline as he jumped in and pushed the heavy piece of equipment out of the van and onto the asphalt by himself. Rolling it over to his trunk, both men carefully loaded the Russian onto the gurney. While he was being strapped in, Yuri moved to secure his car. He held his mouth as he did so, distraught at the amount of blood that soaked into the carpet.

The doctor rushed to his van to get a manual ventilator and the defibrillator. Yuri kicked the side of his car as he watched the doctor work, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Well, is he gonna make it!?” Yuri paced as he pulled on his hair, trying desperately not to lose his composure—he was failing. Dr. Hiro shook his head. “It doesn’t look good. Sorry, but I can’t work miracles. You shoot someone, throw them in a trunk, and suddenly want to save them? That’s insane—a lost cause.” The doctor regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth, he flinched as he heard the glass shatter behind him. He was afraid to turn around; the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up.

Yuri glared at the doctor’s back as he cleared the broken window glass from his arm. When the older man didn’t turn, he moved to stand in front of him on the opposite side of the stretcher.

“Doctor.” Yuri’s eyes had glazed over; the stress of the situation was hitting him hard. He pulled his weapon out, pointing it directly at the doctor’s face. “I’ll make it simple for you. He,” Yuri tipped the gun down gesturing to Victor, “lives or you _and_ your daughter die. Or, you die, and I sell your daughter to the sex traffickers...after I have my fun splitting her open first, of course. Whatever is worse for you, take your pick.” The Yakuza cocked the pistol, making the old man jerk as a tear slid down his face.

The plump man hesitated as he stuffed the Bratva’s wound with gauze. Shaky hands pushed up his glasses as he carefully chose his words while looking down the barrel of a gun. “That’s...that’s...not fair. Please...leave her out of this.” He stuttered before lowering his head, terrified that if he locked eyes with the irate man, it would be the last action he’d ever do.

The Yakuza holstered his weapon, letting out a disgusted huff. “Fair!” he shouted, folding his arms. “Do you think I give a shit about fair right now!? I guess you should have thought about how _fair_ the Yakuza could be _before_ you accepted our help to put your damn kid through school while your ass gambled away her college fund!”

The old doctor cleared the tears from his eyes with his shoulder as he held the ventilator up to the dying Russian’s mouth. The man knew the awful words the thug spoke were true; he _did_ gamble away his life’s savings then took deplorable jobs just to put his child through prep-school and now, university. “Please, just leave her be—don’t hurt her!” he begged. The grin on Yuri’s face was anything but playful; it was cruel and menacing.

“You love your daughter—good. Though,” Yuri tapped his chin, “I wonder if you’ll still feel the same way after I viciously pop her cherry before letting the pervs have her.” He paused, taking in the man’s visibly shaking form, but still he pressed on in his uncontrolled meltdown. “Don’t you fucking think for a second that because I’m gay, I can’t get it up enough to make that girl scream. Don’t test me, old man!” Yuri was shaking. “You know what? I know,” he snapped his fingers, “I should call one of my guys to bring her here as your motivation. Whaddya think—blowjob to start with?”

“Please! I get the point! I’ll do my best to save this man. I swear!” The doctor was beside himself in fear and worry; he knew the patient should be at a hospital where he could get proper care, but being criminals, that wouldn’t happen. The fate of his life and his daughter’s rested in his hands alone—it was terrifying. The man felt the pain in his heart as he thought of his dear daughter suffering because of his actions. He didn’t have much time to contemplate if the Yakuza would truly take action if the outcome wasn’t to his liking—Victor suddenly started to convulse violently, coughing up blood.

Dr. Hiro tried to remain calm as Yuri broke down in front of him, cursing and lodging more threats to his daughter as if it would help him save a life that was dwindling by the second. The older man shut his eyes for a moment as he yanked the paddles off the defib machine. It made him sick hearing what was coming out of Yuri’s mouth. “I swear to god old man! If he dies, I may just let you live so you can see _my_ face in your bastard grandchild’s eyes every day for the rest of your life—just to remind you of how you fucked up not only _your_ life but your precious daughter’s too!”

The doctor was terrified to poke and injured tiger, but he needed to concentrate and couldn’t think with the irate man going off like a loose cannon. “Mr. Katsuki!” The old man was given a look that made his life flash before his eyes for addressing the Yakuza boss in such a tone, but Yuri didn’t retaliate and let the other say his peace for once. “Please, I need to be careful as I shock him. You need to give me space—try to calm down, for his sake.” He gestured to his deathly pale patient that wasn’t getting better from Yuri’s irate outbursts.

Yuri threw up his hands and took off toward the jet. The wind carried his voice as he stalked toward the plane to speak with the pilot. “Fuck! Just fucking saving the bastard! I’ll be back.”

 

* * *

***

 

A soft knock at the door roused Yuri out of his tortured memory. He glanced down at Makkachin chewing on a toy before answering the knock with an annoyed, “What?” The person on the other side of the door hesitated but poked a head through to address his boss.

“I’m sorry, Aniki, but Dr. Hiro’s daughter is here to speak with you. Shall I…”

Yuri slammed his fist on the desk, startling the poodle, making him cower in fear as the mood in the room grew tense. “Show that woman out. Now. If she doesn’t fucking leave—shoot her.” The young boss gritted his teeth as he waited for the other to bow and close the door. He was agitated further when the man spoke instead. “Sir, but…she has the child with her.”

“What the fuck! I don’t owe that damn lady anything! Here,” he dug into his pant’s pocket and pulled out his wallet, “she wants more money for the little brat, take it!” He tore two ten-thousand yen notes out and lobbed them toward his subordinate. The uneasy henchman quickly entered, picking up the thrown bills. “I’ll leave this note on your desk; she figured you would refuse her again, so she wanted you to read this.” The note was left before the other made a hasty exit, not wanting to push his boss further.

The young boss glared at the dog huddled with his ball near a bookshelf, as far away from Yuri as the poodle could manage. Instantly the Yakuza’s face softened. The poor dog had been through so much; he didn’t need to stress him out further. “I’m sorry, Makka, boy.” He whistled and held out his hand, waiting for the dog to realize it was safe to come near him. “I’m just upset right now; I won’t hurt you—promise.” Makkachin came up to him hesitantly, licking his fingers then scooting his head under the extended hand. Yuri sighed as he ran his fingers through the thick curls, giving the dog a calming pet. “Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”

Yuri rose to find the leash, glancing back at the note on his desk before leaving. Hesitating, he unfolded the letter with one hand, reading the first few words, ‘Thank you for…,’ before balling it up and tossing it in the wastebasket. “Stupid bitch,” he hissed before heading out the door with a bouncing Makkachin on his heels.

 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Oyabun, Head of the family in a Yakuza syndicate. 
> 
> Comments? Suggestions? Screams? Let me know below! xD Don't worry, it's not as bad as it looks...really...


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

 

 

It was a beautiful day for a walk, the sun was warm, and the faint scent of sakura tickled Yuri’s nose as he and Makka ventured past the small shops and cafes. He breathed in deeply as the wind rustled his hair; the tinkling of the poodle’s collar centered him, allowing him to concentrate on something other than his racing thoughts. Yuri made his decision months ago that he was getting out of the Yakuza. He was done with it, despite his high ranking. The Japanese man was ready to settle down with his dog and have a quiet life—one away from the killing and torture. As he walked, he thought about how he would pose his resignation, as the Yakuza wasn’t typically an organization that one just _excused themselves_ from. He was lucky for the fact that he was in good standing with the Oyabun and was well liked as well as respected; it would make it easier to leave without having a target on your back.

"Awww...cute poodle you have there!" A woman’s voice called out from behind, tearing Yuri out of his thought process. He knew the voice immediately, and it soured his impending good mood in an instant. The Yakuza turned toward the voice, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring hatefully. A petite dark-haired woman stood before him, rocking a small baby in her arms. It was Dr. Hiro’s daughter, Luci. She had been waiting for him, hoping he'd leave at some point so she could ambush him—a deadly proposition.

"What the hell do you want, Luci!?" Yuri stepped toward the woman; his voice was low, but the dangerous underlining tone was evident.

The woman smiled, ignoring the hardened face of the Yakuza boss. She huffed as the baby in her arms squirmed. "You could at least see him, you know? I want him to know you, Yuri."

Makkchin laid down at his feet as Yuri tried to stare down the insistent young woman. "I want nothing to do with that kid. Don't mistake my kindness for caring."

The woman grinned, opening her mouth wide in shock that didn't touch her eyes. She snuggled the little boy, whispering into his wisps of hair. "Did you hear that, sweetheart? Your godfather doesn't want to love on you. What a mean man!"

Yuri rolled his eyes, shrugging his shoulders. "Dammit. I am not that child's anything! And I don't cuddle babies!" He moved closer to the woman, getting in her personal space and glancing down at the child in her arms. He spoke it a quiet, yet harsh voice. "Do not get the wrong idea about me," he threatened. "I set up that trust fund as my apology and thanks to Hiro for what transpired last year. That does _not_ mean I want to fawn over you and your fiance's shit machine!" Yuri had tugged on Makkachin’s lead before he started walking away from the annoying woman. His patience was waning.

“He still hates you, you know?” she called out to him as the Yakuza was departing. “For what you threatened to do to me. That was low, Katsuki.” Her jesting was gone; she wanted to make sure Yuri understood how much he’d hurt her father. The older doctor had nightmares of Yuri stealing his daughter and doing unspeakable things to her as punishment for his failings. The young boss stopped, pulling on Makka’s leash but didn’t turn. “I didn’t think he was taking me seriously, so I had to up the ante. I’m not sorry for what I threatened, and I would have done it if I had felt it necessary, regardless of how much it hurt you, Luci. I’m not a nice man, stop pretending that I am. Don’t come near me again. I opened that account—I can close it just as easily. Remember that.”

Luci kissed the top of her little one’s head. “No, Yuri, you are a good man—to those you care about!” Tears threatened to escape as she spoke. She wanted to hate the man that was walking away from her, but she also owed him so much. Yuri Katsuki single-handedly wiped away all of Hiro’s debts in one fail swoop and funded a trust that would pay for her son’s future education in full. Her father was irate when he found out just a month following Christmas Day that his daughter had gotten pregnant and was engaged to the baby’s father. Hiro was still distraught about what had happened that day and hearing more awful news added to his stress. He had no money to pay for a wedding nor help with a grandchild. The news of Luci’s slight had traveled through the Yakuza ranks before it reached Yuri’s office. Even with the outcome, with what he put Hiro through that night, it was the least he could do for the doctor’s help in a dire situation. “Yes, that’s right Luci—and you are not one of them. So again, leave me alone. I’ve got my own shit to deal with; I don’t have the time nor desire to play _Uncle_ to that brat. The child has enough money for his future. Forget you ever knew me. I will surely do the same for you.”

Yuri continued walking, ignoring any sobs he thought he heard behind him. He wanted a clean break from the Yakuza—from everyone, so he could just be free. Having contact with a daughter of someone connected to the family would prove a problem in the future, so he had to remove her from his life completely. The sun was hanging low on the horizon when he made it back to his office with the poodle. The pair had walked miles around town, just taking in the scenery. Yuri was contemplating his life in the Yakuza as he walked, thinking about the lives he’d taken and the hardships he’d caused. He never really gave much thought to the lives he’d ended in the past, but that all changed when Victor left. The Japanese man thought people would just get over the loss of someone quickly; there was always someone that could take the missing person’s place—eventually. Yuri had learned; however, over the past year that not every person lost has an equivalent replacement. Some people are just too precious and too unique ever to be forgotten or replaced with a substitute.

Victor Nikiforov was one of those people.

Yuri never realized how much his life intertwined with his ex-coach, be it with the skating world or the Yakuza world until he was gone. He hated the Russian back then and never could have honestly admitted that he liked or possibly even loved him in a disturbed sort of way. But now, now that he was out of his reach, he could say it—he loved Victor. The realization brought him to his knees. Makka ran up to the man as he fell near a bench outside his apartment. The poodle lavished him with licks and kisses all over his face, making the traces of the salty tears that sprang free disappear. Yuri ran his shaky fingers through the silky curls, rubbing his face in the fur as he wept. The pair sat there on the ground, one coming to the realization of his actions and the other desperately trying to comfort him anyway the dog knew how. To any onlookers, it was just a man cuddling with his dog, but to Yuri, it was a broken man grasping at the only thing he had left of his enemy—of his Victor. And for now, that had to be enough.

 

* * *

 

 

The following year was just as rough, if not more for the young Yakuza boss. Yuri solidified his plans to leave his mafia family, but in doing so had to take on more jobs that were suited for the new recruits. His days involved collecting protection money and _reminding_ those that didn’t pay of the consequences. He had stopped skating for almost an entire year, aside from a few times he could sneak out and catch a late session at a local rink. Makkachin stuck to the man like glue, going everywhere with him but the shakedowns. He started to rely on the dog, just as Victor had done. Yuri had not expected to have the poodle be the one thing that he and his rival would share. The man laughed at himself as he thought of how similar he acted with having the dog at his side almost constantly; the two bonded so well. Makka even traveled with Yuri to view new apartments in Fukuoka, where he was from, to scope out new accommodations after he departed from the Yakuza.

Yuri decided on a nice quiet place near the beach where Makkachin could have a blast chasing seagulls. It was a small apartment, nothing fancy like his old place, but it would do for the two of them. He had decided to get a monthly rental so he would not be pinned down in one location, he needed the freedom and didn’t plan on being there long. He only put up the necessities, knowing he would be leaving in a few months; he had plans and wasn’t going to stay stuck in Japan. Makka decided he would help as well, pulling out a folder from a box and dashing across the floor with it, shaking it in his mouth. Yuri jumped up when he saw what the dog was about to destroy.

“Makka, no! Put it down!” He ran toward the poodle, but the dog would have none of it, taking off in the opposite direction and attempting to hide under the kotatsu. “Makka, give. “нет _,_ нет, Makkchin! отпустить!” Makka instantly dropped the now damp folder, dumping its contents on the ground. Yuri sighed as he scooped up the wet documents, making sure he could still read them. “Makkachin, do you not want to go home? I need these maps and phrase pamphlets for Russia, dammit! I won’t be able to get to the cemetery without them.” The poodle dropped his head to the ground apologetically and whined, pawing at Yuri’s knee. The former Yakuza took pity on the poor thing, patting his leg for the dog to cuddle next to him. “I know you didn’t mean it. You’re probably just nervous from everything that’s happened and now you know something else is on the horizon as well. Dog’s intuition, hmm?” The dog let out a content sigh as Yuri started rubbing the animal’s ears. After they had made up, Yuri got up to finish more unpacking. It was a chore, but one he was gladly taking it on after having to go through so much trouble in order to get out of the Yakuza—moving and unpacking was nothing.

It took a few months for Yuri to feel secure enough that all the loose ends were tied up in Tokyo for him to take off again. He had been looking at some places in Alaska that he’d liked. The wilderness was beautiful, it had plenty of ice rinks, and it seemed remote enough that no one knew who he was—not the figure skater nor the Yakuza. It was a true place to start over. A detour to Novodevichy Cemetery in Moscow, Russia was all that stood in his way. A smile crept on Yuri’s face at the thought of traveling to the Bratva’s hometown. Yuri grabbed Makkachin and playfully rubbed down his belly and got him excited, taking the bouquet of silk flowers he was about to pack and tickling the dog’s nose with them. The poodle barked and jumped as Yuri growled and barked right back. “Makka, are you ready? We’re gonna go see Victor soon!”

The instant that name left his lips, Makkachin laid down and whimpered. He should have known better; the dog wasn’t stupid, he knew his previous owner’s name and knew that he wasn’t around any longer. It broke Yuri’s heart to see his dog so unhappy, especially because he was the cause. “It’s alright boy. I promise. You’ll be okay—I’ll be okay. Come here.” He tapped the wood flooring to get the animal’s attention. The dog ignored him, getting up to walk away. “Makka, I know you can’t understand me, but I hope you’ll forgive me one day. I did what I had to do.” It was no use going after the dog; he decided to let him pout in peace while he continued to fill the suitcase. Everything he wanted to take to Alaska he’d shipped to a storage facility, so one set of luggage plus the animal carrier was the only thing he’d need to bring to the airport. The plan was to stay in Moscow for a week before moving on to his permanent home. Well, it would be an apartment for a while until he decided on a house to purchase; money was no object as he’d saved nearly all of his earnings for the past two years. Yuri blew out a shaky breath. This was going to be it—he was leaving Japan for good and going to a country where his kind was assuredly not wanted. The man was fortunate though, after the Bratva executions in Moscow, the city created sanctions that ended up making the family move their operations to St. Petersburg. The less mafia in around, the safer Yuri and Makka would be on their travels.

Yuri looked at his watch and called for the poodle. “Makka lets go! Stop pouting around. Поехали в Россию.” The former Yakuza smiled to himself at the pronunciation. It was still awful, but it would allow him to ask for directions if he got lost. Makkachin finally waddled into the foyer and allowed Yuri to clip the lead on his collar. “Here we go, boy. This will be… _an experience_ for sure.” Before walking out the door, he pulled out an old flip phone instead of his regular one. After pressing a few buttons, he typed out one simple text, “Приходили,” and walked out the door. The phone was tossed in the non-burnable bin in front of the complex before heading to his car. “Sayonara, Nihon,” he murmured as he loaded up the trunk.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a shorter chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it just the same! <3 Love you guys!
> 
> нет = No.
> 
> отпустить = Let go.
> 
> Поехали в Россию = Let's go to Russia.
> 
> Приходили = We're coming.
> 
> Sayonara, Nihon = Goodbye, Japan.


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

* * *

 

 

The dawn was creeping up on the massive field of glittering stone. One lone man stood in front of an intricately carved boulder that watched over the fresh flowers laid in its shadow.

The man removed his hat, dusted it off and held it to his chest. A sigh escaped his chapped lips as he glanced down at the name written in stone. Виктор Никифоров.

“Yurio took your passing the worst you know? I had a hell of a time convincing him to continue competing after you and Yuri left.” Yakov shifted from one foot to the other as he continued to speak to the headstone. “If you can believe it, he, Phichit, and Chris became friends of sorts—calling each other in the middle of the night to reminisce about the great loss they all suffered.” The older man returned the fedora to his balding head. “No one knows the real story; we made sure of that, telling them you left us due to a tragic accident and Katsuki just couldn’t handle the loss, disappearing from the skating world for good. It’s better that way; we couldn’t have civilians being aware of the underworlds’ secrets.”

The old man sighed heavily and rubbed his tired eyes. "Vitya, how did you end up here—in Novodevichy Cemetery, of all places?" he mused.

A gust of wind blustered through the field, making him shutter. A voice met his ears as the wind continued whipping the scarf around his face.

"I'm here because you called me—hundreds of times. That's how phones work..."

Yakov turned to see a tall figure leaning against a nearby tree. Upon moving closer, he saw the budding rays of the sunrise glitter off the silvery strands of hair covering the man's forehead.

"You jackass. I didn't think you'd come! You've been ignoring all my calls! It's been over two years goddammit! I thought...I thought..." the ache in his throat stopped him from continuing. He walked closer still to see the ocean blue eyes peering at him.

"You thought what? I was really dead? That was the point, Yakov. Now, I’m wondering about your sanity, considering you kept leaving messages on a dead man’s phone for two years! I cannot believe you came to my grave so many times.” He peered around the older man. “And you left flowers!”

Yakov crossed his arms, pressing his lips in a hard line before speaking. “I didn’t want to believe it! There was no body, just ashes…hearing your voice on the voicemail greeting was the only thing that got me through some days.” Yakov was embarrassed that he did such foolish things, him of all people.

Victor sighed, pushing himself off the tree. “Oh, Yakov...I missed you too. But I'm here now, that's all that matters right?"

A black tuft of hair peeked out from the other side of the tree, causing the Russian to snort and roll his eyes.

"I'm here too! Did you miss ME!?" Yuri Katsuki let out a breathy laugh. A smart ass grin lingered on his face as he walked around and stopped next to Victor.

"You! You are dangerous! You could have killed Victor with that stunt of yours!!!" the older man raged pointing a shaky finger at the Japanese man. They were only feet from each other now.

Victor laughed easily. “Yeah, I told you; you always have to be careful around they quiet ones, da?”

Yuri just shrugged and glanced at Victor then back to Yakov. "Well, I mean, technically I DID kill you, babe."

"You did not! No heart beat for two minutes doesn't count!" Victor jokingly snapped, moving to smack the younger man on the ass and missing by inches as the other made a quick side-step.

Yuri shook his head furiously while darting at the Russian, capturing him into a bear hug to place a kiss on his chin."Yes, it does!” he argued, then turned to the older man who was glaring. “Yakov, it counts, doesn't it?" Yuri laughed and only angered the older man more. "Stop joking around. I don't want to remember that day!" Yakov shouted with a heavy air to his voice.

"Yuri, I know you’re good at twisting the knife...literally..but just calm down." Victor peered at his lover and killer from the corner of his eye before grabbing him and locking him in a headlock when he wouldn’t stop his mouth.

"Victor...” Yuri choked out as he pulled on the other’s arm encircling his neck. “…do you want me to _accidentally_ kick you in the scar again?"

The other shook his head, releasing his lover in an instant while remembering something else. "Oh, Yakov! You didn't see..." Victor rushed up to his former superior, pulling up his shirt. "Look at my side, did you see what that little shit did. That bullet left one hell of a scar!" The left side of Victor's sculpted torso was marred by a purplish red scar. Smaller in the front at the location of the entry wound, but much larger in the back where the bullet exited.

“I don’t want to see that! Put your shirt down this instant and wipe that smirk off your face!” Yakov ordered. “You shouldn’t be proud of your idiot’s stunt.”

"Oh, come on, Yakov!” Yuri grinned. “It was just a gift for him to remember me by.” Yuri reached over and yanked the man’s shirt down harshly, giving him a, _you know better,_ look before turning back to face Yakov. "He thinks it cool. Why I have no idea. He's lucky I didn't nick any major organs, or he would have bled to death right there."

“Anyway, it took forever for me to be able to get out of the Yakuza. You should know, it couldn't have been easy for you either." He sighed heavily. “Look, I did what I had to do, Yakov. My family was going to make an example out of him and anyone he cared about as a warning to others who may have been thinking of dishonoring our name. It was a rash and risky proposition—made in the heat of the moment. I had to kill him in order to save him. I wanted so badly to hate him, but I couldn’t. I…” he trailed off.

Victor came around to drape an arm around the other. “He couldn’t help but fall for me after having my dick in his ass. I was just too good to get rid of.” He kissed Yuri’s temple. “Right, baby?” Yuri coughed and laughed at the same time, shrugging out of the hold. “Yeah…something like that…”

Yakov cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Keep that shit to yourselves, will you?” He crossed his arms over his chest again. “I did leave the mafia. I retired, though it was more like a forced retirement. The Bratva didn't need an old-timer like me anymore.” He made an ugly face at Victor. “They thought I’d gone soft after losing that bastard to my enemy.” He gestured to the taller man standing behind Yuri.

Victor grabbed Yuri, turning his face to kiss him passionately. "It's funny how fate works isn't it, Yakov? Two sworn enemies falling for each other. We're like Romeo and Juliet!"

"Ew," was Yuri and Yakov's simultaneous reply.

"Yeah, Victor...Romeo and Juliet both ended up dead..so...I'd rather not be them." Yuri scoffed as he reached around to pat the silvery locks like a dog.

"Hm, good point." Victor mused. The younger Russian released his lover to stand in front of Yakov, extending a hand. “I know it wasn’t easy these last few years.” The other took the hand, shaking it. “I’m sorry for what we put you through, Yakov. I’m glad I am still alive today to apologize in person.” Victor pulled the older man forward to capture him into an unexpected hug. The former boss stiffened at first, but relaxed soon after, patting his subordinate on the back. “I’m glad you’re alright, Vitya. Don’t scare me like that again,” he requested.

The pair broke the hug and Yuri came up from behind to intertwine his fingers with Victor’s. “We’re going to stay in Moscow for one more night before heading to Alaska. I think Makkachin is still in shock that Victor is back. I feel sorry for the poor dog; I think he was finally accepting the fact that his owner was gone and got used to me— now we’ve sprung this on him. He tackled Victor at the hotel and insists on sleeping on top of him.” Victor glanced at Yuri then laughed. “Yes, Makka is clingy—I had to lock him in the bathroom for hours when we were getting _reacquainted_ that first night.” He pulled their hands up to kiss Yuri’s knuckles, winking at the older man.

Yakov rolled his eyes, visibly looking annoyed. “We need to get going—can’t have anyone see you alive. Just be careful until you’re safe in Alaska. Where are you staying tonight?” Yuri piped up this time. “Well, we are staying where it all began,” he started, but Victor finished his sentence. “Yes, we are going to The Ritz Moscow!”

“Okay, then…I won’t bother you two in that case.” Yakov cracked a small smile. Yuri walked up to him and thanked him for not pressing into Victor’s death and apologized again for everything. The younger man bowed then said, “The hell with it,” and gave the older man a hug, much to the other’s discomfort. Yakov locked eyes with Victor’s smirking face before stepping out of the unwanted contact. “I’ll try to call once we are settled. You can visit anytime, just let us know,” Victor offered, giving his former boss a wave as he turned to leave. Yuri tipped his head once more at the older man before catching up to his lover. They exited the cemetery hand in hand.

“Yuri, I think Makka is going to hate me,” Victor said as they walked. “No, he’ll forgive you for leaving—he loves you more than anything,” Yuri replied, squeezing the other’s hand. “I know. I meant…he might not forgive me for sending him to the bathroom all night tonight. I plan on having some fun with a certain Yakuza.” Yuri laughed out loud at the comment. “Ha! Ex-Yakuza for one and two, my ass can’t handle much more. Your ass may be on the line tonight.” Victor tugged his lover toward him as they walked, catching his lips in a quick kiss. “Bring. It. On.” Yuri licked his lips. It sounded like a challenge—one he was happy to take on.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter was so short. I didn't want to leave everyone on such a cliffhanger for this long.
> 
> Yesterday I found out that I'll have to put one of my dogs down and that my coworker passed away while I was at the vet. It's been a real shitty week/weekend. I just wanted to let you guys know in case the next chapters for this and "Use Me" take a little longer than normal.
> 
> Hugs and love!


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

* * *

 

 

The classic smell of fresh linen and fragrant flowers arrested Victor and Yuri’s noses. The latter gasped as he took in the Presidential Suite of the grand Ritz-Carlton hotel room. Victor followed as Yuri walked around the lavish dining room, poking his head into the marble bathroom and bedroom, before turning to the other man.

“It’s just like it was before! This is insane, so many memories here.” Yuri grinned at his lover with a sparkle in his eye, sliding his hand up the other’s pale neck and threading his hands into the silver locks. Victor took the initiative and bent to give the ex-Yakuza a bruising kiss. Both men were hell bent on destruction when they encountered the other in that very same room year ago, but now—now they looked back in awe at what they put each other through.

Victor groped his lover as he walked the man backward, taking his hands and putting them on his ass as they shuffled. Groaning echoed through the suite as the older man licked and nibbled down Yuri’s jaw. The younger man’s eyes popped open as his back hit something behind him. He turned to see the dining room chairs and started to ask why he was backed into the table, but the smirk on his lover’s face stopped him.

“I think this is the exact spot where you gave me the infamous blowjob.” Victor stood back, giving his partner some space. The sound of a zipper lowering made Yuri bite his lip as he watched the long fingers start to free a massive erection. “Care for a re-enactment?” Victor winked while Yuri’s fingers were full of the girth as his hand was unceremoniously shoved down the unclasped jeans. “Yuri, baby, do I need to get the gun again?” A smirk crept on the looming man’s lips. “Suck me.”

Victor’s breath caught as his dick was harshly squeezed. Yuri released him, falling to his knees. “Only if it turns you on. This cock is mine whether there’s a gun to my head or not. Yuri yanked the man’s boxers down and engulfed him one swift move, making Victor latch onto the messy locks in front of him with both hands. Curses and grunts made the younger man ever so eager to please. The slurping got louder as he began to deep throat and fondled the other’s soft balls. A strong pull on Yuri’s hair made him look up, seeing concerned blue eyes staring back at him. “I won’t last long with you doing that. Bed. Now.”

Yuri pulled off his lover’s cock with a pop, wiping the saliva on his sleeve. Getting up, he grabbed Victor’s shirt with both and hands and escorted him to the bedroom, forcing him to fall backward as his knees hit the bed’s edge. Buttons flew in all directions as Yuri tore off the other’s white shirt, removing his own directly after. Pants were discarded with the same thoughtlessness; the expensive garments tossed aside without hesitation.

“I’m gonna fuck you in the ass, Victor. I want you to be screaming my name as I tear you open.” Yuri was feeling devious, giving the other a menacing smile as he tweaked a nipple, laughing at the resounding squeak.

Victor moaned, tracing his fingers down the taught abdomen on top of him, as the filthy words made his ass clench. "You can do anything you want to me, as long as you don't stab or shoot me again."

Yuri captured the mouth below, twirling his tongue around its mate as they danced for dominance. "Does stabbing you with my dick count?" Yuri asked breathlessly into the reddened lips.

Victor gazed into the chocolate eyes he loved so much, caressing the other’s face tenderly. "You can impale me with that weapon anytime. I’ve had to go without it far too long."

“Good. I’m glad you approve.” He fisted both of their cocks together, making both moan in pleasure. “Because I was going to do it anyway.” Victor shuttered as the hand on their dicks moved lower to circle his hole, dipping in ever so slightly.

Victor let his legs relax, giving Yuri all the access he needed to fully appreciate the rosebud he was fingering. Scooting down and pushing his lover’s legs up, Yuri flicked his tongue across the winking mouth. Enjoying the sounds coming from his silver haired lover, he dipped his tongue in, gently at first then pushing the muscle in deep until he was able to French kiss the opening. The younger man grinned during his ministrations as he felt hands grasping his shoulders for leverage. Victor was beyond words as Yuri added fingers to the sloppy kisses. Index fingers crooked and held open the left and right side of the cavern while a flattened tongue explored his depths.

“Inside!” Victor squirmed, grasping at the strands of black hair. As much as he enjoyed the foreplay, he was ready to be taken—he wanted to be owned. “I need you inside, Yuri. I’m fine. I’m stretched. Just shove it in—I’m not a virgin anymore. Do it!” Yuri moved his head up to witness the most beautifully flushed and aching face he’d ever seen. Victor’s cheeks were red, mouth slack, and eyes were pleading with fresh tears.

Yuri smiled sweetly, his face coming up to suck a welt on his lover’s left hip. “Someone’s needy.” Victor shook his head eagerly, making beads of sweat fly in all directions. “Just remember, you asked for this—Bratva. I’m going to do as you ask, but I’m not stopping until you’re full of my come.” The older man panted as he felt light nips travel from the welt on his hip to the scar on his torso where his love stopped to pepper the area with licks and feather-light touches. Victor twisted, giggling as the sensitive flesh was tickled with Yuri’s ministrations.

Without warning, Yuri rose up, giving Victor a harsh kiss before sucking the other’s tongue into his mouth and biting it. Muffled moans turned into a shriek as Yuri lined up and shoved, sheathing himself inside his lover’s cavern. Victor’s hands came up to circle Yuri’s neck, twisting his fingers around strands of hair to take his mind off the burn. The pair panted as their violent kiss subsided. “Fuck, that stung!” Victor slammed his head into the soft bedding; he felt his insides tense as the intruder moved out before diving in once more. Yuri kissed the other’s temple then licked away a stray tear. “I know it hurts, but you like it rough—and you know I like giving it to you.” Victor groaned in response, pushing his hips into the other for more friction.

Yuri buried his head in the crook of Victor’s shoulder, sucking and biting as he began pistoning in and out of his lover’s warmth. The bed creaked and shook with the force of the pair’s need to have one another. Yuri licked the shell of the other’s ear, breathing heavy. “God, you feel so good. I’m so fucking glad I didn’t kill you back then.”

Victor moved his hands to grope at the pounding cheeks on top of him. “Fuck, Yuri, me too. I would have died an unhappy man not knowing the ecstasy of your cock in my ass.” Yuri moaned in agreement, unable to form a proper response. He was getting close.

“Put—legs—’round,” the younger was able to mumble out. Victor wrapped his legs and arms around his lover tightly, moving his hips up to meet the thrusts—anything to make his lover finish as deep inside as possible. Yuri’s thrusts became more uncoordinated as he inched to the precipice. He snaked his hand between them to stroke Victor so they could come together. Just a few short strokes had the older man clawing at the other’s back, gasping as ropes of white liquid painted the sweat-slicked skin of their stomachs. Feeling the clenching on his cock, Yuri’s eyes darted back and forth, quickly deciding he needed to anchor himself before exploding into the warm depths he was sheathed inside. Deciding on the tender skin above Victor’s collar bone, Yuri launched forward, sinking his teeth into the flesh, screaming into the budding wound as he slammed his hips forward, flooding his lover’s insides.

Victor squeezed tightly as the warmth blossomed from within, soothing the ache from Yuri’s rough lovemaking. His long fingers raked through the black locks that were sprawled on his shoulder, comforting his lover as his high dissipated. “How bad did I hurt you?” Yuri asked as he unburied his head and glanced up to meet a pair of tired looking blue eyes. Victor’s lips turned upwards, forming an adorable smirk. “Not bad—nothing your scorching come can’t melt away. Honestly, I like it better when you’re rougher.”

“Really now?” Yuri propped himself up on his elbow; a sad expression flitted across his face as he felt himself soften and slide out of the inviting hole. “If that’s the case, maybe I should take you dry next time?” He caught his tongue between his teeth, grinning and giving his lover a playful wink.

Victor ruffled Yuri’s hair as he settled back down, rolling over to snuggle. “Oh, ha ha. I said, rough, not excruciatingly painful.” He wrapped his long arms around his already yawning lover, placing a kiss on the top of his head. “Anyway—sleep. We have an early flight tomorrow. The rest of our lives begin, remember?” A soft, “Uh huh,” came out garbled as Yuri yawned again, already falling asleep to thoughts of a mafia-free life in Alaska. Victor watched his love’s face as the other’s breathing became steady, stifling a yawn himself. Lazily he trailed his fingers along Yuri’s muscular back, daydreaming about how different it all could have gone if they hadn’t been so lucky. Luck was the only way the older man could describe it since he was so close to death those two years ago—millimeters made the difference. Before the darkness took him, Victor leaned over to place a loving peck on the other’s shoulder, whispering a thankful prayer into the still damp skin.

They were finally free to live their lives together without the dangerous Bratva and Yakuza over their heads. The two lovers slept soundly that night knowing the best years of their lives were ahead of them.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone that stuck with me through this story! I loved all the wonderful comments.
> 
> I can't wait to bring my next story to life and share it with you all soon!
> 
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> Sign up for my newsletter at [seramaddingly.com](http://www.seramaddingly.com)


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